


Gold-Framed Tesserae

by KyberHearts_And_StardustSouls



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Fight Scene, Fluff, Infertility, Multi, Romance, Self Insert 2nd person, Smut, mentions of abandonment, mentions of abuse, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25008070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyberHearts_And_StardustSouls/pseuds/KyberHearts_And_StardustSouls
Summary: Bucky still feels fragmented. Pieces lost or too shattered. But then he meets you. And piece by piece he builds something new, something warm and loving. Suddenly, every piece, old and new, has a place, and Bucky can't wait to see the whole picture.This story has it all. Angst, drama, fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF! Smut. (Also mentions of abuse, torture, abandonment, mentions of infertility (male) but I kept it at a limit because I'm tired of sad things.) The story is partially set in post-Endgame, but let us pretend that EVERYONE we love is alive and everyone who deserved to be left in the dust *cough* Thanos and his bitches *cough* is gone.
Relationships: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Bucky Barnes x single mom reader, Bucky x fem!Reader, bucky x you
Comments: 26
Kudos: 81





	1. Part I: Scattered Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is Bucky's POV. You'll see towards the end why I wrote it the way I did, but it is an xReader. Y/N = Your Name Y/L/N Your Last Name. Internal thoughts are in Italics. Also, You'll see the name Miguel. This is Miguel Santos aka Living Lightning!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll see the name Miguel. This is Miguel Santos aka Living Lightning!

  
  
  
  


He sits on a wooden chair, a plate heavy with food propped on his lap, a bottle of beer in hand. He may not be able to feel the buzz but he still likes the taste. One of the few joys Hydra didn’t take from him so long ago.  
  
He scans the compound’s manicured greens. A few trees neatly line the edges of the access road. A few more trees look like methodically arranged, oversized triple-bouquets. Leave it to Tony to make everything look so... perfect. Even the lush Kentucky Bluegrass is immaculately trimmed and guess is each blade is exactly two-and-a-half inches long. Not a fraction longer or shorter. Usually, that’s all there is. The neatly lined trees, the methodically arranged triple clusters, and the immaculate Kentucky Bluegrass expanse.  
  
Today, however, colorful tables and arrangements of even brighter balloons and pennant banners take up most of the space. There are sectioned-off stretches for potato-sack races and a volleyball court. There’s a stage and activity booths and even a balloon artist. At least Tony had skipped on the clowns, something everyone is really grateful for.  
  
In a safe distance, far from all the commotion of activities and contests, several barbecue grills stand next to an assemblage of tents, each bearing a sign of what’s inside: chilled drinks, buffet, desserts, and even one that reads ‘first aid’. The clues of a company picnic are rounded off by the cheerful laughter of children playing chase, parents yelling for them to slow down; and endless banter between colleagues about anything but work.  
  
It’s loud and it’s crowded and usually he avoids these types of things but Steve had insisted he show his face. “You need sunlight, Buck. It’ll be good for you.” What Steve had really meant was: “You need some social interaction, Buck. It’ll be good for you to see people other than the team. Maybe even make a friend or two.”  
  
Even now, Bucky rolls his eyes at the subliminal message. He ventures that had he said or even hinted a “no thanks”, Steve would’ve dragged him outside by the scruff of his neck -or collar at least- like a petulant child and would’ve sat Bucky in the time-out chair until he would’ve agreed to stop pouting.  
  
He sits in a chair now, the same wooden chair, and on the far side from most activities. Close enough for Steve to see he’s there, yet far enough to observe from the sidelines. And he has actually interacted. He did have to get his plate, after all. And his drink.  
 _Baby steps.  
B A B Y steps.  
_  
“I like your arm.” A small voice catches him off guard. Bucky’s head snaps left and he sees a boy maybe five or six years old standing next to his chair, munching on a PBJ sandwich and studying the gold lines on the Vibranium arm. Without warning, the boy reaches out and touches the metal, and Bucky holds his breath. _He’s just a kid. Just a kid. Just a kid_. “Wow. It’s cold.” The boy states quite -what’s the term?- scientifically.  
  
Bucky guesses he’d expected it to be warm, considering the prosthetic’s dark plates and the fact that Bucky’s been sitting out in the sun for at least half an hour. “It has an integrated cooling system.” He supplies the answer to the unasked question of “How?”  
“What’s in-gre, in-gre... ingregrated?” The boy’s eyes are curious and Bucky can’t help but chuckle at the mispronunciation of the word along with little crumbs falling to the ground.  
“It means it works together with the other parts of my arm to make a whole functioning unit.”  
  
The boy nods “yes, yes”, index and thumb on his tiny chin while he chews through another bite of his PBJ and like he understands, but Bucky is sure he’s just thrown at least two other big words at the boy which he doesn’t quite comprehend (,yet). But there’s something endearing about how the child just goes along, and Bucky has learned a long time ago that, sometimes, age and intelligence can be deceiving. For all he knows, the kid is a genius in sprout form, early growth stage of becoming another Shuri or Stark or Banner.  
  
Just as Bucky is about to ask where the boy’s parents are, he hears the concern-laced call of a name. “Max? Max! There you are.”  
Bucky looks to where the voice is coming from and his brain kind of short-circuits for a moment. _WOW! Talk about... beautiful. Correction. Breathtaking._  
  
“I’m so sorry. Is he bothering you? Max, are you bothering this man?”  
Max shakes his little head. “No, mom.”  
“Really?” The voice is stern and Bucky can’t help another chuckle as his brain seems to kick start into the now.  
“He was asking about my arm.” He offers with a smile but somehow that procures a horrified look in response.  
“Oh... god... I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. He’s always so forward when he’s comfortable around someone. Doesn’t think about personal space and such.”  
“It’s ok. He was just curious. No harm done, right Max?” Bucky winks at the boy and Max smiles sheepishly.  
“Still... uhm...” There’s an embarrassed pause and suddenly Bucky feels bold.  
“Bucky.”  
“What?”  
“That’s my name. Actually, it’s James, but people call me...”  
“Bucky.”  
“Right.”  
  
Bucky is about to extend his hand when another voice interrupts the moment.  
“Sorry, gotta go. Max come on. We’re next in line for the potato sack race.” The duo rushes away and Bucky’s brain sputters again.  
 _At least tell me your name._ Did he say that out loud? Wait? Did he? Clearly, he didn’t or else he’d have a name now. _Dammit._ He was so close. SO CLOSE.  
 _Oh, well.  
  
Oh well...  
  
Oh well?  
_Is he really that easily dissuaded? Then again... this is a company picnic. One for family and friends of people working at the compound. And Max had said ‘mom’. That means taken, right? There’s no way someone this gorgeous is not taken, he tells himself.  
  
 _Oh well._  
  
Bucky is tired of socializing. He ignores Steve’s voice as he heads inside. Best to leave before he does something stupid like lumbering over to the potato-sack-race and asking “Would you like to go grab a cup of coffee with me?”, because there is no way in heaven or hell or anything in between that someone that beautiful is not taken. And Bucky -somewhat old-fashioned in thinking- knows it’s best to keep a healthy distance to spoken-for people, even if times have changed.  
  
 _Oh well._  
  
He mulls over those two words for days to come. He can’t get that day, that moment out of his head. Just... beautiful. He can’t think of another word. Of course, he knows there’s more to people than beauty. And that’s just it. He saw beauty and something else. Brightness? Warmth? Knowledge? Smarts! Everything... Just... WOW! And those eyes... and that awkward smile... and that sweet sweet voice... Damn! He’s in trouble and he doesn’t even have a name!  
  
He could probably go through personnel files. See where everyone fits in. And with whom. But Bucky feels like that’s a line he shouldn’t cross. Not this time. Somehow, he gets the feeling he won’t be forgiven for such an invasion of privacy. Like anyone would forgive that. But this is NOT some mission. He doesn’t need intel on some enemy or spy or...  
  
“James!”  
“What?” It’s a rare thing that his best friend calls Bucky by his actual name. Clearly, Steve is annoyed.  
“Sam said you’ve been distracted. Looks like he’s right.” Steve gives Bucky that scrunched brow look when he’s all in Captain Rogers mode. Even with having handed the shield to Sam, he never fully let this particular trait go. It’s ingrained just like the 5 a.m. runs and this overbearing need to figure things out so he can fix them. “Care to tell me what’s going on?”  
  
Bucky pays little attention to the truth-seeking eyes of now civilian advisor Steve Rogers. Instead, he stares out the window of the sleek office belonging to his friend. “No!”  
“Alright... I’m only trying to help Buck. If you need time off...”  
“We got them, didn’t we? I don’t get what the big deal is.”  
“The big deal? Buck, the only time I’ve ever seen you this... whatever this is, was way back when you tried to impress Dot... “ Steve‘s thoughts trail off as realization strikes. _Holy shit!_ “It’s a woman, isn’t it?”  
  
“Steve... please don’t start.”  
“Holy shit, it is!”  
“Language?” Bucky is actually a little taken aback. Not that Steve never curses. God knows, they both have learned their fair share of wash-your-mouth-out-with-soap words while in training way back when. Even so...  
“Don’t try to distract. It’s a woman. Obviously, someone you met recently?”  
Bucky groans. He can hear the gears clicking as Steve puts one and one together. Not like there have been many occasions where Bucky’s been social.  
“It’s that woman you talked to at the picnic, isn’t it?”  
  
“Steve, let it go.” Bucky tries to make a run for it. He’s halfway to the door when Steve blocks his way with shoulders squared and arms crossed.  
“Why? You’re obviously fond.”  
“She has a kid. Which means she’s taken. I didn’t get a name.” Bucky flips up a finger for each point he’s trying to make but Steve doesn’t budge.  
“Just because she has a child doesn’t mean she’s taken. It’s different nowadays. I mean, even back in the days there were single moms.”  
“You’ve seen her, right? Actually seen her?” Bucky gestures with his hands as if to point out the very clear-as-crystal truth.  
“Yeah, Buck. And she’s very... pretty.”  
“Pretty?”  
“Ok... she’s gorgeous. Your kinda gorgeous. That doesn’t mean she’s taken. You want me to find out who she is?” There’s a hopeful, almost mischievous smile and wiggling brows.  
“No!” Bucky panics. “No. Please. Steve. Don’t. Don’t pull strings. Don’t go through files. Please. Just, let it go.” Bucky pushes hard and stalks past his best friend.  
  
 _Why?  
Why is Steve like that?  
Fu...fricking punk._ “Punk.”  
  
Bucky continues in annoyed strides down the long hallway of the new administrative wing. It’s sleek in design and bright. Almost all windows, glass walls and supportive beams making the space look like it’s floating. Ferns and succulents adding hints of green between various seating options. Some of the switch-glass walls are in their opaque state. The rest are transparent.  
  
If he wasn’t so irritated right now, Bucky is sure he’d quite enjoy this new addition to the compound. The switch-glass in itself is pretty cool. Upgraded versions that can turn into floor-to-ceiling screens at the push of a single button. But right now, all Bucky wants to do is head to the gym and hit a few sandbags into oblivion. Maybe then he’ll forget about the picnic and about the fact that his best friend knows him too well. _There can be no more distractions_.  
  
So he tells himself. That doesn’t mean the universe likes to play along. He doesn’t even know how he didn’t hear the pitter patter of little shoes coming closer. All he knows is that one second he was ready to step onto the elevator and the next, two small arms clutch tightly around his knees to stop him.  
“Max?” Of all the people...  
That Bucky is a little confused would be an understatement. Unless Stark Industries employs little humans, why is the boy here? Alone. Wait!? ALONE?  
  
The boy doesn’t let go. In fact, his hold tightens as he looks up with big reddened eyes and suddenly everything within Bucky shifts. Anger gone, he softly grabs hold of Max’s little arms and kneels to the boy’s level. “Hey, what’s wrong?”  
Max wipes away new tears and sniffles hard. “They’re mean to me.”  
“Who is?”  
“The boys at the center.”  
“The center?”  
“I go to the center when school is done.” Max still sniffles.  
  
That explains him being here. Bucky’s heard that there is a free on-site center for kids of people working here. To make things easier for parents if long hours are required. Spare them an extra trip on the way home. Even Morgan goes there, as far as Bucky knows. He remembers Tony’s daughter talking about all the exciting experiments they’d once done at the center. The place can’t be too bad.  
  
Yet here Bucky is, kneeling in front of Max, the boy clearly not having the best of days. “Come on, Buddy. Let’s take you back. I’m sure they’re looking for you.” Bucky’s voice is as soft as he can make it. He scoops Max up and the boy clings tightly around Bucky’s neck, still sniffling. The sound makes Bucky’s heart squeeze in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. Not since pre-war, pre-serum Steve.  
  
Bucky follows colorful signs pointing to something called The Tree House. It has to be the after-school center for kids. Then again, Bucky doesn’t put it past Stark to have built some kind of arcade-like room for the adults here. There’s a fully decked out one in the main building and Bucky has spent a many, sleepless nights there fascinated with Space Invaders and Pac Man.  
  
Of course, he always makes sure no one else is around whenever he’s there. The only hint that he frequents the room are the letters spelling out PUNKSR. And the only time he even plays is whenever that 8LEGS person overtakes the pole position.  
  
Max still holds tight to Bucky when the pair rounds the last corner where another colorful sign points to The Tree House. It’s definitely not an arcade-like room for adults. Drawings and other crafty knickknacks on handprint-covered shelves lead the remaining way and Bucky is certain these things have been made by kids. Who else would stick googly eyes to paper plates with pipe-cleaner hair and card stock mustaches?  
  
Bucky can’t help the small chuckle. And he can’t help thinking “how cute”, especially when he spots with his super-vision what look like effigies of Sam and Steve. The super-soldier doesn’t need super-hearing though to realize that Max’s absence has been noted. Anyone within a one-mile radius likely knows.  
  
“What do you mean, you don’t know where he is?! HOW DO YOU NOT NOTICE MY SON WALKING OUT?”  
“I promise this has never happened before. He figured out the code for the door somehow. I’m so sorry... we’ll find him. I promise. We already have the exits locked. He won’t get far.”  
  
It is in that moment that a pair of eyes on the brink of tears land on Bucky, and he swears his heart stops and he’ll do anything -ANYTHING!- to never see THAT look again, when every single emotion pushes through hot tears of panic and relief.  
“Max. Oh my god! Where did you go? What happened? Don’t you ever, ever, EVER do that again! Ever!”  
  
More tears and sobs come from two directions closing in on each other and Bucky is barely understanding the words in between.  
“I’m sorry, mom. I’m sorry.” The boy’s face is squished into tweed, little fists gripping the fabric tightly as he’s getting squeezed for dear life.  
“You cannot take off like that. You scared me, Max. I was so worried about you. What if you got hurt?”  
“I’m sorry, mom.”  
  
Bucky watches awkwardly. He’s not sure if he should say something or just walk away. So he just stands there, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket and two feet away because he doesn’t want to overstep but he also doesn’t want to just simply walk away.  
  
It takes another moment before Max’s sniffles stop and before he paces with head hanging low to the center’s director to whom he apologizes. And apologizes again and again. And not once does he actually say why he’d taken off. That doesn’t go past Bucky and something bubbles up within him. Courage, maybe? Mixed with his 1930s ghost-self of protector. “For what it’s worth, Max said some boys were teasin’ him.”  
  
Eyes are back on Bucky, then on Max and the boy nods shyly. There’s a moment where silence takes over. Bucky can’t quite describe it but if a mother’s fury -just the emotion- is tangible somehow, then this moment is it, and he hates to admit it but he’s actually scared. He definitely never wants to be on the receiving end of THAT look, a look that he swears could level entire cities.  
  
He backs away painstakingly slow, watches carefully as Max is ushered into the lobby of The Tree House.  
“Thank you.”  
The softness of the words catches Bucky off guard and he freezes. There’s a hint of broken to them. A hint of sadness. And even a hint of an apology. “Uhm... ‘Twas nothin’.” Bucky sheepishly rubs a hand over the back of his neck. And as if this moment can’t get any more awkward, he nearly trips over himself taking another step back.  
“Max... he... he doesn’t trust just anyone. And... I can’t talk right now. I gotta take care of this. Make sure he’s alright. Thank you, again.”  
  
Bucky nods in understanding, then is left standing.  
He watches commotion through the glass doors when he catches a couple of boys older than Max snickering and pointing. It takes every ounce of self control on Bucky’s part not to march in there and give them a piece of his mind. And from the looks of it, he doesn’t have to.  
  
The boys catch Bucky staring and all he has to do is squint his eyes in a menacing way while squaring up his shoulders. Dark and brooding comes in handy, and a small part of Bucky is proud when the boys scramble to wherever it is they scramble to. Though proud may be the wrong word. Gratified? Maybe delighted? He doubts those two will bother Max again. That’s all that matters.  
  
His line of sight sweeps back just as the switch-glass to The Tree House’s admin office turns opaque. Bucky is sure the director is in for some censored but choice words. Hell, even he feels in protective parent mode. Bullies have no place anywhere. Least of all here. At the Avengers Compound.  
  
Bucky forces out a breath. And another when he realizes that once again he’s forgotten to ask for a name. Not like it was great timing to begin with. Still... _Damn it, universe. Is this a joke? A second chance. A second chance MISSED! Why?  
_  
And what the hell happened to his spy training? He remembers beautiful eyes. And soft curves. And kissable lips. But was there an ID badge? Or a guest badge? A ring? No ring? A ring? No ring? A ring? _God damn it!_ Bucky really hopes the gym is empty ‘cause boy does he need to let out some frustration.  
  
To his luck, the gym is all his, and some three torn punching bags later, he’s tired at last. Even worked up some sweat. A rarity for Bucky. But tired doesn’t mean that he forgets about missed chances. And missed details. _Ring? No ring? Ring?_ ...  
  
Bucky breathes out hard. Frustrated. _Forget it. She’s taken. She has to be. There’s no way in heaven or hell or anything in between that someone that beautiful is not taken_ , Bucky tells himself over and over again.  
  
Bucky spends a lot of time at the gym over the next couple of weeks. Out of annoyance for missed chances. And because he’s avoiding the new administrative wing like Vision’s cooking. It looks pretty but leaves an odd sensation in the pit of the stomach. Not necessarily bad. Just... odd.  
  
Naturally, it doesn’t take long for Steve to catch on that something is off with Bucky. Training is needed, of course. Even super-soldiers need it to stay on top of the game. Keep mind and body sharp. But when Bucky misses yet another [RE]scheduled meeting in lieu of beating the crap out of another punching bag, Steve wants the four-one-one. And he wants it from the source, not the grapevine.  
  
It’s a good thing Steve has superhuman reflexes or else the bag flying his way would’ve left an imprint of his body in the wall. “Fuck... Bucky... What the fuck? What’ the bag ever do to you?” Steve lifts the one-hundred-pound bag like a feather. “How many is that this week? Four? Five? You’d think Tony would come up with something more resistant to hold them in place.” Steve chuckles to ease the tension. He tosses the bag on a pile with a ‘to be fixed’ sign and Bucky just grunts in response, mostly because he has switched to doing sit-ups.  
  
Steve is sure his friend has reached an easy hundred when he seats himself on a stool near the ring. “Care to tell?” Steve prods after Bucky does another easy hundred sit-ups.  
“Nope.”  
To be fair, Steve didn’t think he’d get an answer on the first try but he’s on his last nerve. He used up all his patience with liaisons and bureaucratic crap. The price he is paying for going civilian. “Alright... tell you what, if you manage to pull the floor out from under me, I’ll let it go but if I win, I want to hear everything.”  
  
Steve doesn’t change clothes. He doesn’t even wrap his hands. He only takes off his shoes and socks and steps into the ring, then waits.  
“You can’t be serious!”  
“I am dead serious. You missed two weeks of meetings. Left me to deal with Ross’ antics. I want to know what’s got you distracted.”  
  
Bucky shakes his head. That stubbornness has never faded and for a moment he sees Steve as he was in the forties. A feisty little shit who can “do this all day”, fists already in the air. But Steve isn’t a frail young man anymore. He’s muscle and speed and the platform of the ring shakes under his bouncing feet. “You’re on, Punk.”  
“Let’s see what you got, Jerk.”  
  
They circle for a moment, gauging each other’s alertness, trying to find a flaw in footwork, an opening to attack but they’re both on top of their game. At least until Steve fakes a step-out, then it’s on and neither hold back.  
  
It’s not a clean fight. Not entirely. Bucky’s time in Siberia floats to the top and Steve seems to have switched to the rules of the streets, the young man from Brooklyn swinging through in every punch. They really could do this all day and if it hadn’t been for Nat’s “What the fuck?”, there likely would’ve never been an end to it.  
  
Instead, Bucky is caught off guard. A microsecond of looking away is all it takes to miss a right hook. He kisses the canvas, cusses under heavy breath as blood trickles from a split lip onto his tongue, the taste of iron unmistakable. “The fuck, Steve!?”  
  
“Shit! Shit shit shit... I’m sorry, Buck.” Steve rushes to his friend’s side, checks his face, his eyes. “You alright?”  
Bucky grumbles, then, to Steve’s surprise, chuckles if somewhat dryly. “I’ll live.”  
“So... you gonna talk or what?”  
The two men sit side by side and Nat joins with a cold towel, handing it to Bucky. “What’s going on?”  
  
Bucky has never been able to keep secrets from his two best friends. “Remember the picnic?”  
Steve nods. “The woman?”  
“There’s a woman?” Natasha is genuinely surprised.  
“No. I mean... yes. No.... kind of ...ugh... I ran into her.”  
“Where?” Is a unison question so loud that Bucky actually startles.  
“Tree House.”  
  
“What?”  
“That after school place in the new wing.”  
Steve’s brows scrunch together and Nat raises a brow, but neither speak. They wait like saying “tell us more” and Bucky wishes he could. But damn, where to even start?  
  
“She was there. Her kid... some boys were teasin’ him. And...” Bucky shrugs, unsure how to proceed. He stays silent, looks to the floor, twists the towel in his hands. He feels vulnerable in this moment. He’s not been distracted like THIS in a long time. Not since Dot. And under Hydra’s grasp? He wasn’t allowed. Not like they ever left him thawed long enough anyways. He has to relearn so many things. And one is to be open about how he feels.  
  
Nat lays a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder, takes the towel from his hands and dabs his face with it, even boops his nose. “What’s her son’s name? I can check if she works here.” There’s no teasing undertone, just genuine care and concern.  
“No!” Bucky panics. “No! Please. Look... fuck... I don’t want to seem like a stalker. Just give me a couple more weeks. I’m sure I’ll be over her soon enough.”  
  
Steve sighs. “Bucky...” He starts gently, voice soothingly soft, but Bucky’s heart rate doubles anyways.  
“Guys, please! I don’t wanna get my hopes up. And I also don’t wanna know more. If she’s married or whatever... I can’t. Ok. Please?”  
Steve sighs again but agrees, shoulders slumping in some kind of defeat.  
  
“We just might have the perfect thing for you to take your mind off.” Nat’s eyes flick to Steve’s and suddenly there’s tension in the air. One that Bucky knows quite well.  
“A mission?”  
“You have to promise us something first.” Steve’s face is unreadable as he waits for some type of reassurance.  
“Ok.”  
  
An exchange of looks and Natasha retrieves a folder from where she’d dropped her things earlier. She hands it to Bucky and his eyes darken at the name on the tab. Natasha swallows thickly. She knows that face. That cold blank stare. “I’m going with.” Is a statement, not a request and Bucky knows there’s no point in arguing.  
“To make sure I won’t kill him?”  
Nat doesn’t have to answer. Bucky knows that’s what Steve had meant by promising them.  
  
It takes a week and three days. No word of success or progress until, just like that, the quinjet lands unceremoniously in its usual spot, Steve Rogers already waiting nervously next to the Secretary of State.  
“I still think that Wilson should’ve taken this assignment.”  
“And I still think we owe Buc... Sergeant Barnes this.”  
“We’ll see, won’t we.”  
  
The ramp opens painstakingly slow, and if Steve didn’t know better, he’d say it is the Winter Soldier stalking down the metal. But he does know better. It is Bucky advancing in heavy steps and it is Bucky stopping, squared and broad, in front of Thaddeus Ross.  
  
There’s a flinch. Former General or not, Ross can’t hide his discomfort of facing a man he once had hunted across the globe.  
“He’s inside. On a stretcher.” Bucky gives Steve a look then stalks away, leaving behind a stunned Secretary of State.  
“Alive? Barnes?”  
Bucky doesn’t stop to answer. He doesn’t care.  
But Steve does, so he follows, quietly, until they reach his office.  
  
“You really need to work on your social skills.” Steve takes a seat opposite Bucky, dropping several folders on the mahogany-stained desk.  
“I did as asked.”  
“I’m not saying you have to ever get along with Ross, but he’s the Secretary of State. You need to show some...”  
“Respect?” Bucky cuts off and Steve inhales sharply.  
“...sense of professionalism.”  
Bucky grunts. “I don’t owe him shit.”  
“You’re right. You don’t. Still...” Steve folds his hands in front of him, body straightening, jaw set tight. Fucking Captain Rogers mode.  
  
There’s a heavy pause and Steve realizes he’s not going to get anywhere right now. Not like this. “You should take a few days off.” He suggests with a gentle voice and Bucky nods.  
“I just might.”  
There’s another pause. Softer. Lighter. Calmer.  
“Well, before you go, do me a favor? Drop off these expense reports. Room two-oh-two.”  
“Don’t you have a secretary?”  
“Yeah, you.” Steve laughs and Bucky rolls his eyes.  
“Punk.”  
“Jerk.”  
  
They trade a mischievous look, like back in the day. Back in Brooklyn. Bucky sometimes wishes he could go back. To before he became this. This hardened soul. Before Steve became that. The voice of reason.  
  
But there’s also recognition. Admission, actually, that things are better. Steve is healthy. Steve is happy. Steve is more himself now than he could’ve ever been way back when. He doesn’t have to make up bullshit excuses of “we’re roommates”. Doesn’t have to hide his love.  
“Say hi to Miguel,” Bucky throws out before he closes the door and he swears he saw the-ever-self-controlled Steve blush at the mention of his boyfriend’s name.  
  
Bucky laughs softly as he thinks back to when Steve had first met Miguel. Heart-eyes is an understatement. And if Bucky hadn’t shoved Steve, there would’ve been need for mouth-to-mouth.  
  
Bucky laughs again and finally steps onto the waiting elevator. He pushes the button for level two, expense reports tight in his other hand. _What had Steve said? Room two-oh-two? Had he mentioned a name?_ Bucky can’t recall.  
  
Oh well. Bucky is sure he can drop the reports with whoever because according to the directory on the wall, two-oh-two is accounting and whoever works there should know where this stack of papers goes.  
  
Bucky turns left, then right, then left again... _Wait! No!_ He has to turn right. Why are office buildings always so complicated? It doesn’t help that this floor is quite different from Steve’s. More drywall than switch-glass walls. Smaller offices. Staler. Almost boring. And even a little claustrophobic.  
  
He shakes his head, folder still tight in his hand, and asks himself about who still uses paper in this day and age. Bucky is sure that Steve could’ve just emailed this. Maybe it is a ploy to walk off the rest of the mission’s frustration or to keep Bucky occupied until Ross leaves. Who knows.  
  
One thing is certain: Bucky wants this day to be over. So he picks up his pace. Two-oh-two is just three doors away.  
 _Drop the report.  
Go home.  
Shower.  
Drop the report.  
Go home.  
Shower.  
Drop the...  
_  
“Ou...”  
“Oof... oh crap. I’m so sorry. Let me... Uhm... let me help you pick this up. Sorry. Didn’t see you there, Miss... Miss... Max’s mom?”  
Bucky swears that the soft laugh he gets in return is the sound of angels.  
“Actually, it’s Y/N.”  
A name.  
A name!  
 _A NAME! AT LAST!  
What is time?  
How does one word again?  
Speak?  
Talk!  
SAY SOMETHING!  
JFC. BUCKY SPEAK UP_. “Uh... yes... hi... uh.” _OH MY GOD. TELL HER YOUR NAME!_ “I’m James. Actually it’s Bucky. Wait! No. Actually it’s James but most people call me Bucky. ‘Cause my middle name is Buchanan. So... I’m ... Bucky. And you’re... You’re Y/N.”  
  
You laugh again, and Bucky can’t help the tops of his cheeks turning a shade of pink. “I know. I remember you. Well, Bucky. Looks like you were coming to see me. Is that the expense report for Mission Z?”  
“What?” Bucky looks at the crumpled papers in his hands. “Uhm... I guess. I can get you another copy.”  
“No worries. Just leave it on my desk. I gotta run. Meeting with Misses Stark.”  
  
Bucky doesn’t have time to reply before you disappear around the corner. Or at least it seems like he can’t. His mind is still playing catch up. He huffs out a dry laugh. _Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable!_ He plucks his cell from the pocket in his sleeve, fast fingers hitting speed dial.  
  
Three rings in and the person on the other side answers with an amused “Yes?”  
“Tell me something, Punk. Did you know?”  
“Did I know what?” Steve feigns innocence but Bucky doesn’t bite.  
“That Y/N works here.”  
“Oh... so you finally got her name, huh? Did you ask her out?”  
“Steve!”  
“What?”  
Bucky inhales deeply, releases another dry laugh. “Thanks.”  
“No need. And she is.”  
“What?”  
“Single. She’s single. So ask her out.”  
“Can’t. She ran off to a meeting.”  
“Jesus... Bucky... Do Nat and I have to hold your hand?”  
“Listen here, you Punk...”  
“I know. I know. You love us.”  
  



	2. Part II: Sketching Shapes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly fluff, but also a little angst. Some body image issues/ weight talk. Cuss words. But really, this is fluffy fluff. Because I'm a sucker for falling love stories. Reader's child does have a name. It's Max. 
> 
> Y/N = Your Name Y/L/N Your Last Name. Internal thoughts are in Italics.  
> Also, You'll see the name Miguel. This is Miguel Santos aka Living Lightning!

  
  
It amuses Steve to no end when Bucky shows up at the office the next day. “Thought we’d agreed you’d take a few days off.”  
“I am. I will. Just... uh... Did accounting say anything? About the expense report? I kind of fucked it up.”  
Steve studies his friend with a smirk. There’s a glow to Bucky today. His step lighter when he’d entered Steve’s office. A softness in the eyes. “You mean, did Y/N say anything?” A-ha! Bucky’s eyes flitting to the floor is all Steve needs. “She didn’t. Only asked for a digital copy.”  
  
“Oh... okay.” Boom. Disappointment replaces happiness.  
Steve rolls his eyes. “You know, nothing says you can’t go back.”  
Bucky stays silent and Steve sighs.  
“Bucky, just go see her.”  
“And say what?”  
“Hi. How’s it going? Didn’t ruin your meeting with Pepper, did I? Can I make it up to you? How about a cup of Joe? Better yet, buy a cup ahead of time and just drop it off.” Steve counts the ideas on his fingers like it’s that easy.  
  
“You’re an ass, you know that?” Bucky grumbles.  
“Tell me something new.” Steve laughs. “Now get out of here. Unless you want to sit in on a liaison meeting with Fury?”  
“Hell no!”  
  
Bucky does consider the choices. It’s really not that complicated. Get two cups of coffee. Casually stroll by accounting. Say hello. Maybe ask about Max.  
Really!  
It’s not _THAT_ complicated.  
But good god, he doesn’t want to mess this up.  
  
He sets out like it’s some kind of mission.  
Step one: go, get coffee.  
So he does. Two regulars with cream and sugars on the side, all in a cardboard tray. Should he get a blueberry muffin? Do you even like blueberries? He decides against food. It’s “just” hello. Buying food would almost be -what’s the word- presumptuous? Definitely too forward. For now.  
  
Step two: casually stroll by accounting.  
Here is where things gets iffy. Getting to accounting is easy enough. But the casually strolling bit is where things get a little more complicated. This floor is not like upper levels or the lobby, where a lofty-bright atmosphere invites to just ‘casually stroll along’.  
  
There’s less light here. Less options to sit and chat. Hardly any, actually. It’s certainly more work than play. So how to casually stroll along?  
  
Bucky stops in front of the directory, looking for an excuse to be on this floor. Something that’s close to two-oh-two. Rescue comes in two words: Human Resources. Perfect!  
  
Now it’s all about step three: actually saying hello.  
And in his head it’s as easy as “Hi! Sorry about yesterday. Came by to see if you’re ok.” But when Bucky reaches the door, he stops short of turning the handle. “What the fuck are you doing, Barnes?” he whispers under a doubting breath.  
  
He doesn’t have to wait for an answer. The door opens suddenly and Bucky stumbles forward. At least his reflexes are faster than yesterday. He manages to catch himself, spine against the frame, and you, head-over-heels into his Vibranium arm while he still balances the tray with coffee in the other somehow.  
  
There’s a moment of awkward silence where no one moves. The balance, for all anyone knows, could break with the tiniest hint of a whisper.  
“I really think we need to work out some kind of schedule.” You mutter in Bucky’s tight grip, holding a stack of papers in your hands while still hanging upside down in his Vibranium arm, and Bucky can’t help the laugh bubbling up in his chest, giving you a most delicious shake. _Well damn._  
  
“Ah shit... I’m ... I’m sorry.” He laughs again, sets the tray on a chair by the door, then awkwardly yet gently sets you back on your heels. He wishes he didn’t have to let go. You’re soft and warm and god damn, what is that soothing smell? Is that you?  
  
“You know... usually, I date for a while before someone gets this view.” You laugh at your rumpled up skirt where Bucky only now notices your bare-naked legs. Along with a hint of white cotton where the hem of the skirt hides things north. “So... let’s just chalk this up to wardrobe malfunction. But... do you mind turning around while I fix this mess.”  
“Huh? Oh... uhm yeah... yes. Sorry.” Bucky nearly stumbles again when he spins around at light-speed and he swears he hears you snicker. _Well that went well_.  
  
“So, what can I do for you, Bucky?”  
 _Kiss me?_ “I... uhm... wanted to stop by real quick. Because of yesterday. Wanted to make sure I didn’t ruin your afternoon.” The super-soldier finally and slowly, very slowly turns back. His cheeks are fire-red and he pretends to look at everything else in the room but you. But really, he can’t keep his eyes off you. He wants more details. Needs to see every small movement. Everything that makes you, you.  
  
“Ah. Well, it takes a bit to ruin my day. So, no harm done.” You smooth out your skirt some more, then smile at Bucky and he feels his heart rate quicken. Oh, he’s so done for. So, so done for. He totally gets heart-eyes now. He’s sure he’s making them as he tries to jumpstart his brain.  
  
“Uhmmm... how’s Max?” Bucky’s voice is squeaky and he coughs to cover the attempt at conversation. “I mean, how’s Max?”  
“He’s great. Doing much better now at the center.”  
“So the other boys haven’t bothered him?”  
“Nope.”  
  
Silence again and Bucky curses at himself internally. Nothing scares the super-soldier more than messing up this moment. He wants to say words. Talk to you. Hear your voice. Your laugh. See the crinkles around your eyes when you smile. But he’s off his game, the confident young man from the forties long wiped. Fragments are all that are left. Fragments he wishes he could reassemble into something more cohesive right now just so he can talk to you.  
  
“Well; I hate to be rude but I gotta kick you out. Meeting.” You hold up the stack of re-organized papers.  
Of course you are on your way out! What else is new?  
Damn.  
 _Damn!  
_ “Right. I’m sorry. Again.” Bucky holds the door for you, then grabs the tray with the coffees when he follows.  
“Looks like you have a meeting, too.”  
  
There’s a moment of confusion. Bucky doesn’t get the tilt of your head. Not until he follows your line of sight. “Oh. Yeah. Right. Uhm... heading to HR. Supposed to... uhm... supposed to help pick new recruits.” _Oh my god, Barnes. Really? REALLY? AHHHHHHHHH...._  
“Oh? Sounds fun. Well. I better get. Misses Stark doesn’t like waiting. See you around?”  
“Huh?” Your soft-laughed response has Bucky melting right there. _Get it together, Barnes._ “Yeah. Yes, of course.”  
  
He watches you disappear around the corner before he groans, his free hand running over his face. “The fuck was that, Barnes?” He asks himself, then downs one of the coffees.  
  
He’s almost at the elevator when bright letters on the directory set off a spark in his brain. An idea. And he hopes it doesn’t sound creepy or weird or whatever. It’s a good thing he’d grabbed a couple of napkins with the coffee. And even better that he always carries a ballpoint pen.  
  
Bucky scribbles his cell number as legible as he can on the soft tissue, a little note letting the recipient know whom it is from. A postscript offering help if you ever need it. Once the napkin is slipped under the door, all he can do is wait.  
  
It’s funny though, how patience suddenly is non-existent, because the moment he steps onto the elevator, Bucky checks his cell to see if you’ve texted or called. He knows that you haven’t. You’re still in the meeting. Aside, he’d have felt the vibration. Yet, he can’t help checking every five minutes. Or is it every five seconds? Maybe he should’ve been more forward. Asked outright. But every time he sees you, his brain sputters and he forgets how to string words together.  
  
“Are you expecting a call?” Steve teases when Bucky checks his phone for the nth time at the dinner table. Domestic life fits former Captain America quite well. Especially when he cooks. It brings out something joyful in him. Not only does he love cooking all these twenty-first century foods, but he actually gets to eat them without getting sick. And he’s sure his best friend feels much the same. Well, usually he does. But today, Bucky is far away.  
  
“Huh?” Bucky doesn’t even take his eyes of the display. His mind is definitely somewhere other than here at Steve’s place. Not even the smell of fresh baked bread lures Bucky out of this trance and that leaves Steve quite amused.  
  
“You know, she’s probably busy.” Steve places the bread on the table and waits.  
“What?”  
“Y/N. She has a son, right? She’s probably busy.”  
Bucky’s brows scrunch together. One last glance at his cell then he flips it display down on the table. “You’re right. Unless she didn’t see the note.” There’s a twist in Bucky’s face. A disappointed pout. Logically, he knows that Steve is right. Parenting is a twenty-four-seven kind of life. It doesn’t change Bucky’s mind from wandering. What if you didn’t get the note? What if he scared you? What if...  
  
“Look. Just give it time. She’ll call.”  
“Steve’s right. And if not, just go by her office again.” Miguel winks at Bucky. “Anyways. Stop being so broody and eat. Steve made paccheri al forno, and if you’re not gonna eat, I will. All of it.”  
  
It’s amazing how much food it takes to quiet the stomachs of three grown men. Steve is sure that he’d cooked enough to feed a small army, yet the pans are empty and there are only crumbs left where once laid a whole loaf of bread.  
  
“Ugh... I think I’m gonna pop.” Miguel laments, rubs his tummy. Still, he stuffs the last piece of sauce-dunked bread in his mouth and Steve laughs a kiss into Miguel’s black hair.  
  
Domestic life really does fit Steve, and Bucky can’t help to feel just a tiny bit envious. But he’s happy for his BFF. Steve has found a nice balance of work and life and love and it shows. “So... what’s new with you two?” Bucky watches as Steve clears the table for dessert while Miguel fills the dishwasher.  
  
The couple freezes for a second. Steve holds a tension all too familiar to Bucky and he knows there’s hesitation. It takes some coaxing from Miguel, a few whispered encouragements of “just tell him, he’s your friend”, and Bucky takes a wild guess at what the news is.  
  
Steve folds his arms in front of his chest, like he always does when the moment is serious. “Don’t tell Tony. We want to keep it small. Just the team and close friends.”  
Bucky’s eyes flick between Steve and Miguel and Miguel flips up his left hand, showing off an onyx band with a set in diamond on his ring finger. “What do you say? Wanna be best man at our wedding?”  
Bucky groans teasingly. “Do I have to do the toast thing?”  
“Yes.”  
“A geez. Well since you strong-armed me into this. Hell yes!”  
  
Bucky tries his best to enjoy the rest of the evening. The pastel de mango is sweet, the wedding talk exciting, and PDA between Miguel and Steve? Endearing. Even so, Bucky’s mind wanders. _What if...?_  
  
It isn’t until a few days and sleepless nights later, Friday afternoon to be precise, that an unknown number lights up the display of Bucky’s cell. “Hello.” Bucky doesn’t mean to sound so gruff, but when the line stays silent for a beat, he’s ready to hang up.  
  
“Hi. Yes. Uh. Bucky?”  
 _Oh shit. I scared her._ “Y/N?”  
“Uh. Yes. Hi. Hey... uhm listen, I got your note and uh, well this is really last minute and I totally understand if you can’t...” you chuckle nervously and Bucky thinks it’s the most adorable sound. “But, uhm, I was wondering if I could take you up on that offer?”  
“Offer?”  
“Yeah. Uhm... you know, watch Max. Unless you changed...”  
“No! I mean, yes, sure. I’ll watch him. When do you need me?”  
“Uhm... in a couple of hours?”  
 _God, you’re adorable when you’re nervous, you know that?_ “Sure thing. Text me your address and I’ll be there.”  
  
Exactly an hour and fifty-nine minutes later Bucky stands in front of a tiny two bedroom house. He’s not sure what he expected but he definitely didn’t expect to see so much color, especially since all the other houses in the neighborhood look so... dull.  
  
He knocks on the bright blue door and waits, taking in the surrounding area. There are mismatched flower pots of all shapes and sizes and colors lining the outer walls, most filled with Marigolds. Painted rocks line the path to the picket fence’s gate. Those have to be Max’s handy work. A small green bike leans against the porch railing. A big yellow one with a basket leans against the opposite wall. A soccer ball here, a basketball there. This house shows that there’s life here.  
  
Bucky knocks again, eyes fixed on a birdhouse made of popsicle sticks.  
“Just a second.” Your voice sounds panicked. There’s rustling and rushed footsteps and muffled words and Bucky laughs softly at the image in his head of stuff flying whichever way to make it seem like the place is clean. Not that he cares.  
  
The door swings open and you seem a little out of breath when you kick a ball out of the way. “Hey... uh... sorry.”  
“No need to be sorry.” Bucky’s face scrunches into an amused smile as he waits.  
“Right. Come on in. It’s a little. Messy. Max decided to make a pillow fort and I think half his room is downstairs. So... Anyways. The sitter called out sick and I didn’t know who to call. I appreciate this. I really do. I uhm... I’ll pay you of course, you know.”  
“What? No! No worries.”  
“Are you sure? I mean.”  
“I am.”  
  
A pause and you swear you catch Bucky checking you out. And he does. Swiftly. The summer dress you’re wearing hugs you in the right places. Lace accents at hem and neckline adding sexy to cute. “You look pretty.” _Actually, you look breathtaking_.  
“Yeah?” You spin around, a little unsure and Bucky laughs softly. If only you could see yourself through his eyes.  
“So, what’s the occasion?” Bucky bites his tongue. He wants to know but also he doesn’t. Obviously, you’re going on a date. Why else would you need a sitter? Or dress up?  
  
You’re searching through your purse when he asks, taking inventory, but it doesn’t distract and the answer, to Bucky’s surprise, is fast. “Girls night out. I haven’t been out in ages. Not since...” You pause, fingers clutching tightly around your keys, and Bucky catches the shift in your posture. You’re tense. Scared almost. “I should just stay in.”  
“What? No. Go out. Have fun. I’ll watch Max. Feed him junk food. Bring the rest of his room downstairs.” Bucky teases and you scrunch up your face with a held back laugh.  
  
You grab your jacket then look to the living room. “Max. I’m leaving. You behave for Bucky, you hear me!”  
“Yes, mom.”  
“No scary movies!”  
“Yes, mom.”  
“I love you.”  
“Love you, too, mom.”  
  
“Thank you, again.” You whisper under a shy smile and Bucky pushes you out the door.  
“Have fun.”  
  
Now what? Bucky isn’t scared of kids. He’s babysat a few times. His little sister. Barton’s kids. Steve. Steve counts, right? But this is your child. The apple of your eye. It’s... different.  
  
He unlaces his boots, tucking them in the corner by the living room door. He scans the hallway, a large bin overflowing with outside toys catching his eye. Baseball bats, baseball glove, another basketball, another soccer ball, jump ropes, bubble guns, mini gardening tools, mini construction tools ...  
“Bucky?” Max’s little voice makes Bucky laugh.  
“Yes.”  
“Come, check out my pillow fort.”  
“On my way, Buddy.”  
  
You hadn’t been kidding when you’d said that Max had brought half his room downstairs. Some of the toys stand like guards and neatly aligned on the top edge of the sofa, doubling as weights to hold one of the many blankets in place. Opposite that stands a row of dining room chairs. Sofa pillows are propped upright on the sides.  
  
Everything is draped in colorful blankets, all of which seem to be held up at the center somehow. There are fairy-lights and books and stuffed animals, MegaBloks and Legos and wooden blocks all over.  
  
Bucky decides to stick his head into what he assumes is the entrance, more stuffed animals covering the floors and Max sitting in the very center which Bucky notices is being held up by several broomsticks. “Hey there. Watcha doin’?”  
“Reading.”  
“Ah yeah. Watcha readin’?” Bucky manages to manipulate his tall frame into the fort without tearing the whole thing down. A feat he honestly didn’t think possible.  
“The Ve-be-teen Rabbit.” Max smiles, revealing a missing front tooth and Bucky snickers.  
“The Velveteen Rabbit, huh? Wow. I used to read this book to my little sister.”  
“It’s my favorite. Here! I read it to you.”  
  
Max waits for Bucky to get more comfortable, then he ‘reads’. In actuality, he is retelling the story in his own words. It’s not surprising, really. With a three-thousand plus word count, Bucky didn’t expect Max to know all the words yet. But the detail in Max’s retelling impresses the super-solider. Obviously, he’s heard the story many times. Read to him by you. Bucky can see why it’s the boy’s favorite.  
  
Maybe, one day, he gets to hear you read it. _Whoaaaa... reel it back, Barnes. You haven’t even asked her out, yet._ Bucky needs to divert his mind. What better way to distract than ordering pizza. “How about we clean while we wait for the food?”  
“Awe. Do we have to?” Kids really have the whole pout thing down and Bucky nearly caves. Only nearly, though.  
  
He remembers his own rambunctious days and the exasperated sighs his mother would make. “I think it’d be a nice surprise for your mom if she came home to a clean house.”  
Max holds his little chin between index and thumb, gears spinning. “Ok. But only if I get to watch Toy Story.”  
Bucky laughs wholeheartedly. Talk about negotiation skills. “It’s a deal.”  
  
Max doesn’t even make it halfway through the movie before he dozes off. It takes a great deal of self-control not to laugh at the little snores he makes but somehow Bucky manages when he carries the boy to his room. “Night, Buddy.”  
  
Bucky leaves the movie on play and takes this time to clean the rest of the living room. He has no clue where all these blankets belong or if he shelves the books correctly. And he’s unsure if you recycle empty cans. But the floors are free of trip hazards and the kitchen is damn near sparkling when the turn of the key announces your presence.  
  
“Hey. I’m back. Wow!” You look around and wonder if you’re in the right house. “Where’s Max’s stuff?”  
“In his room.” Bucky stores the last dish then turns to smile at you.  
To say the smile doesn’t get to you would be a lie. But there’s something new. Something you hadn’t seen when you’d left earlier. Something... soft. And you like it. Really, really it. “You didn’t have to...”  
“I didn’t do it alone. Max picked up his own toys.”  
“He did?”  
“Yup.”  
“Wow.”  
  
Bucky laughs. “You make it sound like he never cleans.”  
“Usually, he doesn’t.” You squint and look around again. “What did he break?”  
“Nothing.”  
“Hmmmm... What did you break?”  
Bucky raises his hands, lets out another laugh. “I swear. Nothing is broken.” He watches as you inspect the rooms. Internalizes yet another laugh when you stay impressed.  
“Well, at least something went right.” You sigh and finally slide off your flower-accented sandals.  
  
Bucky has the feeling there is more, but he’s unsure if it would be rude to stay. It is late. Or late-ish. Only ten. But then again, time is relative.  
“Did you guys order pizza?”  
“We did.”  
“Any left?”  
“Uhm. Yes.”  
“Could you warm me up a couple of slices while I go change?”  
“K.”  
  
Bucky shakes his head, laughs softly under a whispered “anything for you, doll”. And really, he’d do anything for you. He hears you going upstairs. Hears soft rustling. Then the sound of rushing water just before you make your way back downstairs. Another second and you’re back, changed into sweats and simple T.  
  
Bucky doesn’t know how, but you look even prettier. Comfortable. Soft. So so soft. “So? Am I going to see something on the news about your shenanigans or did you ladies behave?”  
You laugh at the question. It takes a bite of pizza and a sip of soda before you reply. “I had fun.”  
“But?”  
  
You hesitate. Truth is, you know next to nothing about the man standing in your kitchen. Standing in front of you. Essentially, he’s a stranger. You know that he’s an Avenger. You know that his name is James Buchanan Barnes. And you know that he has the most intense blue gaze you’ve ever seen. Still, he’s a stranger.  
  
And yet, you feel as though you could tell him anything and he would listen without complaint. Ask him anything and he’d answer honestly or at least not get upset. “Can I ask you something?”  
Bucky leans back on the kitchen counter and smiles. “Sure.”  
“Why are men... men?”  
Bucky tenses for a moment, crosses his arms. He knows you don’t mean it in an offensive way. If anything, he tenses because he’s worried and he hopes he is wrong. “I take it something happened?”  
“No... yes. I mean... we were out, right? Just us three girls. And...”  
“Someone took interest.”  
“Yeah. I guess.” You mouse out.  
  
Bucky waits. He has this feeling that you need to vent but you suddenly seem scared to go on. He takes inventory of the situation. Retraces his steps. You’d asked if you can ask. And he’d said yes. And then you did. And he’d felt his mood shift. Oh shit. Was he externalizing this shift? He must be. He is!  
  
Bucky uncrosses his arms. Relaxes his stance. Unclenches his jaw. “Tell me. What happened?” He keeps his voice soft and you relax.  
It takes another bite of pizza and a huge gulp of soda. “Ok. So these guys start hanging with us. And it’s obvious what they’re after. And I don’t know. It seemed ok. It’s a bar. People flirt. Until the guy who was talking to me asked why I’m not married, and when I said that I had been he sort of made a face. And then he asked if I have kids. I won’t deny that I have Max, but shit... he gave me this look.” You stop and Bucky can see that this upsets you more than you’re letting on.  
  
Pizza. Soda. “You know... like ewwww gross. She has a kid. And then he had the audacity to ask, to actually ask, if the pregnancy left stretch marks. I mean, what kind of asshole does that!?”  
Bucky inhales a sharp breath, contemplates how to answer. “Clearly, someone who wants to be single for the rest of his life.”  
It takes a second for you to process what Bucky just said, and dammit, you wish you hadn’t just sipped on your soda because now you’re spraying it everywhere as you laugh and Bucky is quick to hand you some paper towels.  
  
Silence settles when you calm down and Bucky knows it’s time to go home or else he’ll end up doing something stupid. Something like kissing you right then and there because how can anyone think of you as anything but beautiful. “I should go.” He whispers and you nod.  
  
He’s lacing up his boots, ready to go when you stop him with a gentle hand to his chest right when he reaches the door. _Good god, he feels warm and... firm_. “Thank you. For watching Max. And... for listening.”  
“No problem.”  
“Bucky?”  
“Yes?”  
“I don’t have time after work to go out but uhm... my lunch break is from noon to one. If you... ever wanna grab lunch.”  
“I’d love that.” _God you have no idea how much I’d love that._ “Get some rest _.” Close the door before I decide to kiss you._  
“Night.”  
“Night.”  
  
Bucky spends the rest of the weekend as though he has ants in his pants. Restless night. Groggy morning. Grumpy afternoon. Repeat. Monday can’t come fast enough. You hadn’t said lunch on Monday. He remembers. You’d said “if you ever wanna grab lunch”. But he doesn’t want to waste another obvious chance. And he knows, if he lets this one slide, his friends will never ever let him live it down. He’s so done for. He’s so really, truly done for.  
  
 **From Bucky:** “So about that lunch? Any particular cravings?”  
 **To Bucky:** “Anything with garlic fries and fresh lemonade.”  
 **From Buck** y: “On it. Meet up at noon?”  
 **To Bucky:** “Where?”  
 **From Buck** y: “Front lobby of Admin Bldg.”  
 **To Bucky:** “K. See you at noon.”  
  
“Earth to Sergeant Barnes. GrrrShhh.... Sergeant Barnes, do you read? GrrrShhh... Sergeant Barnes, can you hear me? GrrShhh...”  
“Cut it out, Wilson. Can’t you see Bucky’s in love.”  
  
That Sam teases Bucky is nothing new. Bucky is used to it. But Nat. His best friend Nat. “If you two don’t stop it, I’ll show you guys just how much I love whipping both your asses at target practice.”  
“Someone’s grumpy.” Natasha ruffles Bucky’s newly trimmed hair and he shakes his head.  
“Really?”  
“What? I’m right, aren’t I? I mean, look at you. A dress shirt? Under your gear? On a Monday? And you got another haircut this morning.”  
  
“You also turn as red as a beat whenever you get a text.” Sam smirks knowingly.  
“Do not.”  
“Yeah you do.”  
“Do not!”  
“Do too!” Sam always has to have the last word. Even so, he knows when to stop. “Look, I’m just teasin’. But seriously, good for you. Nice change to see you smiling. You look... happy. You’re happy, right?”  
  
Bucky takes a second to answer. Mulls over the word. Happy. Is that what it feels like? “Getting there, I think.” He answers honestly. It’s been so long since he’s felt whatever it is he’s feeling. He does know he likes it. But he’s not sure if it’s happiness alone. It’s more like hope. Looking forward to things. Longing. Stepping outside, into life. Not closing himself away. “Yeah. I’m getting there.” Bucky smiles.  
  
Natasha swipes a soft hand over Bucky’s cheek, kisses his forehead. “That’s good. Happy for you.”  
When Sam teasingly moves in to do the same, Bucky gives a menacing scowl. “Look, I ain’t gonna kiss ya.” Sam laughs. He pats Bucky on the shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “You know where to find me if you need to talk. Even when things are good. Alright?”  
Bucky is quiet for a beat. Sam is a good man. The only one, really, who doesn’t tread on eggshells. Sometimes, it’s annoying. But most of the time, it gives this push of confidence. “Thank you, Sam.”  
“No problem. Just so we’re clear, on the clock it’s Cap or Captain.” Yup, Sam always has to have the last word.  
  
In line at the cafeteria, Bucky chuckles at his friends’ antics. But they’re not wrong. He’s smitten. He’s happy. And right now, he’s ordering two large garlic fries, two large lemonades, and two New York Style hotdogs because might as well.  
  
He’s halfway to the administration wing when he spots you already waiting by the sliding doors, clad in a gray pencil skirt and matching jacket and what looks like a blanket hanging over your arm.  
  
You wave his way before you walk to meet him and Bucky’s heart feels like it’s doing jumping jacks. “Hey there, beautiful.”Your scrunched up laugh is the cutest thing Bucky’s seen all day.  
“Well hello, handsome.” You snicker. “I was thinking, the weather is nice. Wanna make it a picnic?”  
Hell yes! “Sure thing. Lead the way.”  
  
You find a spot on the manicured Kentucky Bluegrass, the red plaid blanket clashing with the bright green of the lawn. Your heels come off before you sit down. “So, what’s for lunch?”  
Bucky chuckles, balancing the tray with two large lemonades to the blanket before dropping the paper bag and seating himself. “New York Style hotdogs, garlic fries, and fresh squeezed lemonade.”  
“Oh god. My hips are screaming.” You roll your eyes dramatically but dive for the bag anyways. “You know what they’re saying?”  
“Feed us?” Bucky’s brows dance in mischief and you snort out a laugh.  
  
Your face scrunches up in that cute way Bucky adores. “No. They’re saying thirty extra minutes on the treadmill.”  
Bucky unwraps one of the hotdogs and takes a big bite. “Why do women do that?” His question is so genuinely curious you actually have to think for a minute.  
“Peer pressure. Social expectations. Fitting into a mold.”  
“Hmmmm. Can I be honest?”  
“Please.”  
“I hate it. I mean we had this crap way back when, too, but I feel like it’s worse now. And I hate it. Nothing wrong with a woman having curves. I mean, nothing wrong with women working out either. Do what you like, you know. Just do it for yourself. Not for me or anyone or society or whatever.”  
  
You study Bucky’s face. His gaze is set on you. Stern brows. Serious eyes. A bit hard with the tension he holds. “That’s a good sentiment. I wish it was that easy. I mean, shit. I shouldn’t care. I have enough to think about as is with Max. But...” You shrug and Bucky’s face tenses a little more.  
And he remembers the asshole who’d ruined your Friday night and how upset you’d been. Bucky inhales deeply, softens his posture. “Whatever you wanna do, doll, just promise me you’re doing it for yourself.”  
  
 _God. How is this man not taken? Wait! Is he single?_ You’d never bothered to ask. Maybe this is a friendship-only kind of lunch. But the way he looks at you. Smiles at you. Talks to you. And then that one day. "The day you... flipped me upside down. Did you really have a meeting at HR?"  
Bucky takes a long sip from his lemonade. "No."  
 _Oh?_ “I gotta ask, because if I don’t, I don’t know... it’ll drive me nuts. And I don’t want you take this the wrong way, but I don’t have the time or the energy to be lead on, so... what is this?” You flick an index back and forth between yourself and Bucky, and he tilts his head, taking in what you’ve said.  
  
“Kinda hoping it counts as a first date.” He whispers, eyes now focused on a stray thread of the blanket as silence takes over. How can this tall and broad and strong man look so small from one moment to the next? He definitely feels small right now. Scared. Heart going a million beats per minute.  
  
The silence lingers. Bucky fiddles with the stray thread, too afraid to look at you. This moment is defining. He knows that. But he doesn’t know if he can handle a “thanks, no thanks”.  
All it takes is your fingers wrapping around Bucky’s fidgeting hand and he looks up at last. “It’s a great first date.” You smile.  
  
It’s funny how one date quickly becomes two, three, six...  
The second is in the cafeteria. The third in your office. Four, five, six are outside, picnic style, something that Bucky really loves. And it becomes bigger each time. Blankets, pillows, fancy plates. Bucky is pulling out all the stops for you.  
  
It’s number seven, out on the greens again. And this time Max is there. School is out for summer and he stays at the center all day. So, yes, you want to spend time with your son. And you also want to spend time with Bucky.  
  
There was hesitation at first. “Do you... uhm... Max is out of school for summer. And... well. He’s here. So can I bring him along?”  
“Of course, doll. I’ll bring a soccer ball. He plays, right?” No hesitation on Bucky’s side. None.  
“Uhm... yes. Yes he does.”  
  
And now you sit here, on a blanket, plating lunch and watching the boys play soccer.  
“He shoots. He scores. The crowd goes wild. Max. Max. Max. Max.”  
You laugh at Bucky making a scene. You laugh at Bucky lifting your son to his shoulders, running around in triumph at a ball kicked between two trees. You laugh when your hear your son squeal and giggle. The best sound ever.  
  
“Boys. Lunchtime.” And it’s a stampede to see who gets the first slider. “There’s time to chew.” You scold them both, Bucky and Max.  
“No. I gotta score more goals.” Max scarves down another slider.  
You raise a brow at Bucky. _A little help, please!_  
“Your mom’s right. Slow down. We have plenty of time.”  
Amazing how Max listens.  
  
Lunch is quiet. Almost quiet. Max makes little chewing noises. Little slurping noises when he drinks his lemonade. Little giggle noises when he steals the last slider right out of Bucky’s hand.  
“Max!”  
“I’m hungry.” The boy’s cheeks are stuffed, crumbs flying everywhere.  
“Still. Manners!”  
“Sorry, mom.”  
  
Max finishes his lemonade, eyes the soccer ball from his peripheral. “Can I go play more?”  
“Yes. But slow. You just finished eating.”  
“K. Thanks mom.”  
  
Bucky chuckles when Max bounces away. The boy has a lot of energy to run off.  
“Thank you. For letting him join us.”  
Bucky’s brows pull tight. “You never have to ask to bring him. He’s your son.”  
“I know. It’s just.” You shrug your shoulders. You watch your son kick the ball. He looks content. The happiest you’ve seen him in a while. “Do you have time on Saturday?”  
  
Bucky sweeps a finger over the display of his cell, calendar app open. “I do.”  
“Movie night? At the house? I mean, that’s if you don’t mind watching Toy Story, again.”  
Bucky laughs. “Sounds perfect to me. I’ll bring the pizza.”  
“Extra cheese...”  
“And extra pepperoni for Max. I remember.”  
  
“To infinity and beyond!” Max yells along with Buzz while Bucky lifts the boy like he’s flying.  
You should’ve known it would be like this. Hyped up on pizza and popcorn and soda and gummy bears, loud, boys will be boys kind of evening. The living-room floor is a giant nest of blankets and pillows and toys. The kitchen a combined mess of empty pizza boxes and dirty dishes.  
  
But you don’t care. Right now, your eyes are on Max and Bucky as they follow the movie, Buzz Lightyear and Woody effigies watching themselves on the screen from their spots on the sofa.  
After sugar high comes sugar crash. Max holds out until the RC rescue scene before he passes out between you and Bucky, snoring little snores. “I’ll carry him upstairs.” You whisper before picking up Max.  
  
By the time you return, Bucky has already stuffed the toys into the wooden chest by the window nook. He folds the blankets now, stacking them into a neat pile on the recliner.  
“You don’t have to do that.”  
“I don’t mind.” Bucky collects the pillows last, then moves on to the kitchen. “Do you recycle?”  
“We do. The can’s outside though. Just leave it. I’ll clean the rest in the morning.”  
“I don’t mind.”  
“Bucky. Just. Leave. It.”  
  
Bucky has no idea when you came to stand by his side. He does know you’ve figured out that him cleaning now is a stalling technique. He doesn’t want to leave. Really, really doesn’t want to go back to his room at the compound.  
  
He wants to be here.  
  
With you.  
  
In his arms.  
  
Bucky is sure he can feel electricity run through his body. That’s how charged this moment feels. Tense high voltage. Energy that needs to be released. So he gets bold. Takes a step forward. Cradles your chin, thumb running over your lips. Closer. Warmer. Home. God, it feels like his lips have always belonged on yours. Like your body has always been meant to melt into his. Closer, tighter, warmer.  
  
“Bucky.” His name comes out in a sigh. Then your hand is splayed on his chest as you recoil. “I’m ... I’m... I ...”  
Bucky sees the panic rise. Sees your need for space, so he backs off. “It’s ok. It’s ok.” He sweeps a soft hand down your cheek, rests it on your shoulder. “Doll. It’s ok.”  
You take a deep breath. And another. One more. “I... I want to. I do. I just... this is too fast. I... I haven’t and I just...”  
Bucky closes back in, his arms gently pulling you back into his body, he kisses the top of your hair. “It’s ok. You don’t have to explain.”  
  
He holds you a moment longer until he’s sure your breathing is calm. Another kiss into your hair and you relax. “Do you want me to leave?”  
You shake your head.  
“I can take the sofa.”  
You shake your head again.  
“Hold me.”  
So he does.  
  
Funny how fast one weekend turns to two. Then three. Then six.  
Even funnier when friends start noting Bucky’s absence. He misses movie nights, dinners, rushes out the door on Fridays.  
  
“So you and Y/N, hmmmm?” Tony’s brows waggle.  
 _How does everybody know?_ Bucky’s defenses go up fast. “Aren’t you supposed to have a meeting right now?”  
“They can wait.” Fucking hell. Sometimes, just sometimes, Tony’s arrogance is a little much. That playboy, I do whatever the fuck I want attitude never fully faded.  
“How does Pepper put up with you?”  
  
“Now. Now. Play nice, boys.” Natasha warns. There’s one thing one does not do and it’s bringing Pepper into the conversation.  
Tony’s chest puffs out with a deep breath. “I’m running late.” The billionaire excuses himself. Mostly because he forgot to put on his wristwatch-concealed gauntlet.  
  
Bucky can feel Natasha’s eyes on him, studying him for giveaways. “I like her a lot.”  
“Obviously. So... how is it?” Natasha treads carefully. She doesn’t really want to know the details. Only if her friend is ok. After all, she is one of the few he’s confessed to that he’s not sure how well he’ll do. If he even can.  
“I wouldn’t know.”  
“What? How? I mean... you two spent what five, six weekends together?”  
“She wants to take it slow.”  
“And you?”  
  
Bucky does have to think for a second. He knows he wants more than kissing. Wants more of you. “I go with what she wants.”  
“Ok. That’s noble. But... I mean. Do you guys talk about your needs?”  
Bucky doesn’t need to answer the way his eyes narrow.  
  
Nat’s gears click and turn. She’s always been able to be honest with Bucky. “You know what I think?”  
“You gonna tell me even if I say I don’t wanna know.”  
Nat laughs at the obviousness. “I think, you two need a night alone. I think, it’ll help both of you relax a little more. Don’t have to worry about her son walking in. And you can be as loud as you want.”  
“Jesus Christ, Nat. The fuck?”  
“What? Just saying. Sometimes it can help things along.”  
  
Bucky runs a frustrated hand through his hair. Nat isn’t entirely wrong. In fact, there’ve been a few heavy make out sessions that have been interrupted that way. Nightmares. Thunderstorms. The monster under the bed. But somehow Bucky isn’t mad. He’d never make you choose between him and comforting your son. But a night alone sounds nice. Even if it ends in ‘just another’ make out session.  
  
“I can see you thinking about it.” Nat teases.  
“When?”  
“In a couple of weeks. I’ll be watching Clint’s kids. It’ll be fun. We’re going camping in the backyard.”  
“Hmmm...”  
“Come on. It’ll be good for everyone.”  
“I’ll ask her.”  
“Good. Now something else. Why didn’t you tell me Steve and Miguel are getting married?”  
  



	3. Part III: To Soften Rough Edges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. 18+ content. Smut. Also fluff, and a little angst at the end. Some body image issues/ talk of scars/ stretch marks due to pregnancy. Cuss words. Bucky is a bit of an ass at the end but I promise I will resolve it in the last chapter. Please don't hate me.   
> Reader's child does have a name. It's Max.   
>  xReader. Y/N = Your Name Y/L/N Your Last Name. Internal thoughts are in Italics.

Bucky changes his clothes a record five times. A second shower and another round of brushing his teeth and Natasha is ready to drag him out the door as god has made him. In his birthday suit.  
  
“Bucky!”  
“What?”  
“You. Look. Fine!”  
“Ok... but tie or no tie. Tie?”  
“Lose the tie. Undo the top button. And what the fuck are those?” Natasha eyes Bucky’s polished shoes.  
“Uhm... Tom Ford’s? Tony said...”  
Nat holds up a hand, does a double take. “Stop! I’m sorry but what? Tony said? Since when do you listen to Tony? Wear your boots.”  
“They’re scuffed.”  
“They’re you!”  
  
Natasha has a point. The longer Bucky looks at himself in the mirror, the less he sees himself. The shirt is the wrong color. Slacks? With pristine creases? Really? And those shoes! What the fuck is happening? “Last change. Promise.”  
  
Nat chuckles at the indecisiveness but she can’t blame him for trying. She hasn’t seen him this nervous in... ever. Happy nervous. His posture is looser. His voice lighter. And his face is probably hurting from smiling so much.  
  
“See. Now that’s you!” Natasha gives Bucky an agreeing once-over as he smoothes out the wine-red Henley of which he owns at least five. The one he’s sporting now must be the newest one, the color still vibrant and contrasting his black jeans nicely.  
“You don’t think it’s too casual?”  
“Bucky. You look fine! Relaxed. Which will help Y/N relax.” Natasha waggles her brows suggestively and Bucky groans.  
“It’s not about that.”  
“I know. Just saying. If you relax, so will she. Don’t make a big deal, you know. Just be yourself and things will happen.”  
  
Bucky knows his friend is right. He knows it’s not a big deal. To be alone together for the first time. Overnight. At your place. There’s no pressure. Only what he puts on himself. Really! Whatever happens, happens. All Bucky wants in the end is you in his arms; content, calm, preferably all skin on soft skin, heart on heart.  
  
“You did remember condoms, right?”  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Natasha!”  
“It’s an honest question. Protection goes both ways.”  
Bucky cannot believe he’s talking about THIS with his best friend; right before his date. With you. “I did remember.” Bucky says it lowly, sheepishly, and Natasha laughs.  
“And you know how to use them, right?”  
“Oh my god. Nat!”  
  
The redhead laughs again. She can’t help teasing Bucky. Despite being the more liberal man out of time, he still gets flustered over certain subjects and Natasha likes to take full advantage. It’s funny to her how Steve and Bucky know some of the most obscene cuss words ever invented but dare anyone say anything sex-related and the super-soldiers are fast on their feet out the closest exit. It obviously works yet again. They’re out the door, at last, Natasha chasing Bucky to the garage where he's already in his car and driving off.  
  
“You sure you don’t mind? Bucky said you’re watching Mister Barton’s children and Max, he’s a good child but he can be very... inquisitive?”  
“Inquisitive is good. And I’m sure.”  
  
You gather the last items for Max’s overnight bag then peer out the kitchen window. In the yard, Bucky lightly passes a soccer ball to Max, your son passing it back with a hard kick. There are fake roars and little giggles as Bucky chases Max, calling out the foul ball that hit the super-soldier on the head.  
  
You sigh at the scene, a soft smile on your face. It’s been a few weeks since Bucky’s stepped into your life. Almost three months, actually. In all this time, he’s always made sure Max feels included. Today is no exception. They return to playing soccer, Bucky cheering when Max kicks the ball into the peewee sized net.  
  
“I really do appreciate this, Miss Romanov. If there’s any trouble, any at all, please call me and I’ll get Max as fast as I can.”  
“Miss Romanov?” Natasha laughs wholeheartedly, taking the bag from your hands. “First of all, it’s Natasha or Nat. Only people who don’t like me call me Miss Romanov. Second, you know what I do for a living. Watching a few kids will be literal child’s play. I mean, seriously, they can’t be worse than...” Natasha points out the window and you follow her finger.  
You laugh when you realize that she’s pointing at Bucky. “He seems like he’s low maintenance.”  
  
“Oh yeah. Don’t get me wrong. Bucky is... he’s simple about a lot of things. Give him beer and pizza and he’ll fix everything that’s broken in your house. But get him together with Rogers and Wilson... Honestly, I’m surprised that the agency hasn’t fired them yet.” The sincerity in Nat’s voice has you in stitches and she gives you a playful wink. “I’ll tell you but not tonight. It’d take too long.” Nat winks again, then makes her way outside, bag in hand.  
  
You follow when a stray ball flies right past your head and the boys freeze in shock, but you stand unfazed.  
“Sorry, mom.” Max smiles sheepishly, showing another gap where he’s lost another baby tooth.  
“You boys are lucky I’m wearing heels or else it’d be game on.” There’s a competitiveness in your tone that’s new to Bucky. It’s sincere, assertive and he swears he feels his body tingle. _Talk about wrong timing._  
  
It’s cute though, how his eyes grow even rounder and Natasha smirks. “I like you.” She elbows you lightly and you laugh.  
“Oh man. Why do I get the feeling it was a mistake introducing you two?” Bucky looks worried. Actually worried but Nat just shrugs.  
“I’d say it’s only fair. We need some more girl power on game night.”  
  
Bucky blows out a hard breath and you snicker. You make your way to Max, kneel in front of him, and sweep a hand over his little face. “You behave for Miss Natasha, you hear me.”  
“Yes, mom.”  
“Good. Have fun.” You kiss the top of Max’s head and he makes a face.  
“MooO **O** Ooom.”  
“Oh... I see how it is. Come here.” Smooching noises and another sing-song Mom and you finally let go.  
  
“Call, if anything...”  
“We’ll be fine! Enjoy your dinner.” Natasha takes Max by the hand. It’s quite endearing to see your son explain how the booster seat works. And how he dives right into his favorite movie from that, showing off his Buzz Lightyear backpack and Bo-Peep doll and Rex and Slinky and Hamm.  
  
Bucky chuckles softly. “Looks like he took half his room along.”  
You wave once Nat’s car pulls away and for a moment there’s silence. Bucky watches you quietly. Studies the way you hold yourself. You’re not tense but not exactly relaxed either.  
  
Bucky lifts your face by the chin, gives you a softened gaze. “I wouldn’t have let him go with Natasha if I wasn’t sure that she knows what she’s doing. She’s been watching Clint’s kids for years.”  
You smile, your face cradled in Bucky’s hand and he leans a kiss on your forehead. “I know... it’s just.”  
“It’s ok. I get it. He’s your baby.”  
  
Silence again.  
You glance to the bright blue door. What were you doing again? Right. Going out for dinner. “I’ll get my purse.” You don’t know why but your hand slides into Bucky’s. Not like you need him to get your purse with you. But there’s this urge. _Stay by my side_.  
  
You squeeze gently and Bucky follows, soft smile on his face. Once in the hallway, you need to let go. Should let go. To get your purse, you must let go of Bucky’s hand. _Just let go_! But you can’t. Don’t want to.  
Instead, you stand there. Hand in hand. Quiet. Heartbeat thrumming in your ears. Skin prickling. Lightheaded.  
  
Dinner.  
  
Dinner?  
  
Dinner...  
  
“My purse... is... uhm ... kitchen.”  
God. Bucky wishes you could see yourself. Nervous. Trembling a little. He takes a guess as to why. Assumes. _Just ask. All you have to do is ask and I give you whatever you want, sweetheart._ To his surprise, you let go.  
  
A short walk to the kitchen. Stumbled. You actually have to hold yourself upright at the counter for a moment. A moment of nothing but calming the nerves. Taking a breath. A moment in which a strong arm wraps around your waist, another turns you in the hold. Steel-blue eyes. A hint of scruff. Soft pink lips.  
  
For minutes, it’s nothing but hands in hair and lips on lips, tongue tasting tongue. Until Bucky steps back, breathing heavily and skimming the neckline of your dress, cold Vibranium sending shivers down your spine. Another beat and your hands retake his as you take lead upstairs.  
  
Butterflies is an understatement and Bucky needs a second to center himself. _We don’t have to_. “We don’t have to, doll. It’s not why...”  
A gentle finger stops him from continuing. You know what he wants to say. You know it’s not about that. You know he’d never ever push that way. “Kiss me, Bucky.”  
You wait. You swear he’s undressing you with those steely blues of his. His mouth parted, you are certain he wants the same as you. “Kiss me.” You whisper.  
And so, he does.  
  
Slowly.  
  
Deeply.  
  
Warmly.  
  
He tastes like spearmint. Smells of rain and spice. Feels like summer sun. You don’t even know how or when, but the summer-dress you’d picked for your date is on the floor, puddled around your feet. Your bra follows. Bucky falls to his knees and your heels come off next. He slides them off, hands rubbing up your calves to the back of your knees, cold and hot at the same time.  
  
It’s a good thing the bed is right behind you. Your knees buckle at his touch and you fall backwards onto the mattress and Bucky chuckles kisses up your thighs.  
“You ok?”  
“Uh huh. Yup. I’m good.”  
Bucky chuckles again, his tongue tracing a line where lace meets skin, Vibranium index hooking into one side of your panties while his teeth snag at the other, sliding them over your legs.  
  
 _Fuck!_ If he couldn’t tell you were wet before, you’re sure he can tell now just by looking between your legs. And he does take a good look just before he pulls you to the edge of the bed. He parts you more, falls back to his knees, your legs over his biceps as he holds you open to himself.  
  
Tongue-deep, he takes a first careful taste. And another. And one more. Then sucks you in, clit between his lips as he pushes a finger, then two into your wet heat. And it’s everything Bucky imagined. Sweet. Hot. Tight. He could stay like this until the end of time. Make you fall apart right now. But not like this. Not yet. It amuses him to hear the frustration in your breath when he stops. “Not yet, doll.”  
  
He stands up, pulls his Henley forward over his head, revealing a T-shirt beneath. Hungry gaze on you, his jeans come off next only to realize that he’s still wearing his boots. He laughs as he hops to take them off at the same time. Chuckles when he falls knees first on the mattress. Smiles softly when he catches himself on his hands by your head. Barely breathes when he kisses you again and again and again.  
  
And he could go on like this forever. Kissing you raw. Getting kissed raw. But he wants more. So much more. He doesn’t want to rush but god, does he need to feel your skin on his. All of your skin on all of his skin.  
  
He sits back up, weight on shins, and pulls off his T-shirt, and suddenly you’re shy. You’d felt his trained physique before. Seen it outlined through threadbare fabric. The weekends that he’d stayed over, he'd always dressed down to T-shirt and briefs. But now, seeing him like this, it’s a whole different thing. Hard muscle and deep grooves in all the right places. Adonis belt so perfect, you’re not sure if he’s real or a marble statue, maybe a figment of your imagination.  
  
You’ve never wanted to cover yourself as quickly as now and Bucky notices the shift in demeanor. Fingers search, grasp for the sheet but Bucky doesn’t let you. “Don’t hide.” He whispers. “Please.” He leans down, kisses your neck, pauses to take your hands with the one that’s still his own and places yours on the scars where metal meets skin. “We all have marks in one way or another.”  
  
Bucky is soft and gentle. Worships your body like he knows you deserve. Soft pink lips kiss every inch of your skin. EVERY INCH. He marvels at the marks pregnancy have left behind. Marks of strength. Marks of change. Marks of growth. Bucky doesn’t have a kink. He DOES have mad respect for any person willing to give part of themselves like that. So he makes sure that YOU know that HE wants all of you. Every soft curve, every freckle, stretch-mark, roll, or scar. Anything you would call imperfection, he kisses.  
  
First softly.  
Then wanting.  
Then needy.  
  
It’s when Bucky pulls you up into his lap, helping your legs around his waist, that you feel just how needy he really is. And you can’t stop a hand sliding down between your bodies, feeling him through the fabric of his briefs. Big. Needs mouth and at least one hand to sheath him fully kind of big.  
  
You tease the waistband, snapping it on his skin, then your hand slips inside and Bucky shutters out a moan at your grasp. “Jesus. Fuck.”  
You snicker. Bucky’s shocked face is all kinds adorable. Eyes wide, mouth open, breaths short and heavy.  
  
Bucky clearly needs a moment. So it’s what you give him. Forehead leaning against forehead, you wait and listen, hand around his cock, until you’re sure his breath is calm. Gentle twists, pre-cum eases your fingers along.  
  
It takes Bucky all the focus in the world not to let go right then and there. Your fingers are soft. Movements just firm enough. It feels good. So, so good. Even better when you kiss his neck. His jaw. His lips. And when your free hand slides into his hair, fingernails scraping against his scalp... _Focus!_ “Not yet, doll!” He grabs your wrists, breath heady, pupils fully blown. “And not like that!” Oh god. When did his voice become this low? This dominant, “do as I say” low growl?  
  
Bucky takes a deep breath, his forehead against yours, he holds your neck with his Vibranium hand, his other hand slips between your legs. He teases you, tracing your slit again and again and again.  
One finger.  
Two.  
And three!  
“Bucky.” His name is a sigh when you fall backwards onto the mattress, legs spread wide open for him while he remains seated, Vibranium arm slipping below your back to your ass.  
  
He gets a good view, adds a thumb to your clit, pulls you closer, pushes his fingers deeper. And as if that isn’t enough, he knows how to talk to you too. Little whispers of encouragement to be yourself, to be loud, that he wants to hear what you like and what you don’t. “That’s it, sweetheart.” “Right there? Yeah... you like that right there?” “Show me what you want. Use your hands. Show me where you want me.”  
  
And you do. Hands on your breasts, you twist and pull. “Kiss me.” “Bite me.” And he does. First gentle, then hard, stinging bites and sloppy kisses. Blissful pain all while he curls his fingers inside you. “Bucky.” You feel that first orgasm building. Like high tide, it’s slow in approach. You know it’s coming. Rising with each return of waves. And once it arrives that’s it. Everything after is like tsunamis after earthquakes, body shaking and soaking through release again and again and again. “Oh god.”  
“That’s is, sweetheart. Let me hear you.”  
  
“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck....” String of cuss words, you force his hand away when you come again, whole body convulsing, shaking, breaths nothing but whimpers. “I need... I need...” You can’t even finish the sentence, close to euphoric tears, but Bucky knows what you need.  
  
Gentle arms, he scoops you back up into his lap, kisses your shoulders, your neck, clavicles, and down your throat. He holds you softly against himself. Lets you catch your breath while he keeps on kissing, gentle hands rubbing up and down your spine to help you get down from the high.  
  
One more kiss, he lays you back gently, then awkwardly fumbles over the edge of the bed in search for his jeans. You laugh when he rolls off with a fairly loud thud. Even more so when his hand pops up holding a foil package in triumph.  
  
Your laughter is music to his ears and he’s happy he’s the cause.  
Bucky crawls back on the bed. Smirk on face, he waggles his brows and looks down and you follow his line of sight. Yup. He’s big. And naked. Completely, beautifully naked.  
  
Licking your lips, you lure Bucky in for a kiss, steal the condom from his hand. The foil crinkles as you tear the wrapper open. A quick test to make sure it’s up the right way, you swiftly roll the latex down and Bucky’s head falls on your shoulder. _Damn. God damn!_  
  
If you have this effect with your hands, what will it be like...? Bucky has to stop his mind from going there. Has to force the thought away or he won’t even make it that far. He holds his weight on knees and forearms, leans in for a kiss and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him close.  
  
Gentle hand, you guide him closer to where you want him. Need him. Whisper of his name and Bucky pushes in at last, inch by inch, slow and steady until your bodies meet at the hips.  
Full. So full. So thick and hard and full.  
“Bucky.”  
“I know. Gimme a second.” Bucky’s breath his hot and heavy.  
  
 _Focus.  
  
Take it slow.  
_  
So he does.  
  
Long, deep strokes.  
  
Slow and languid.  
  
Just until he’s sure he can give you everything you need. Everything you deserve.   
  
All.   
Night.   
Long.  
  
The night was young when you’d started. Air still filled with noises from the streets. Now, at two a.m., the haunting silence that comes with late night is only interrupted by the sounds you two make.  
  
And Bucky loves it. Takes in all the sounds. He loves hearing your moans and whimpers. Breathy sighs of his name between skin resonating from wet contact. He loves the way the bed creaks beneath and the way your fists search for leverage only to slap palms against back or biceps or chest or wherever the fuck you can reach. Loves the contrast of his muscle against the softness of your curves. Loves when your nails dig into his skin.  
  
Bucky bends and folds you in ways you didn’t know you were capable of. Your feet on his shoulders, your knees to your breasts; pulling you in by your waist when you’re on hands and knees; or spooned, one of your legs angled high so he can make himself fit. He stretches and twists and manhandles you until you’re a heap of overworked putty. Nothing but pliable flesh. Soft, pliable, exhausted flesh.  
  
Bucky definitely knows all the right moves. Back on top, his hand splays on your stomach, he gently pushes down when he moves deeper into your tight wet heat, his cock rock-hard. It’s hitting nerves you didn’t know you have. Makes you feel things you’ve never felt before. Makes you scream, literally scream his first name out loud.  
  
And god fuck. He loves watching himself. Loves looking down every so often to see himself disappear in you. He loves the way you feel. The way you take him. Accept him. The sounds your bodies make? Obscene and sinful squelching, but he can’t get enough. Especially when he feels you getting close again.  
  
“One more, sweetheart.” He whispers and you don’t know how much more of yourself you can give to this man heavy on you. Don’t know how he’s still hanging on? You’ve come more times than you can remember. And that was before your bodies even became one. And now... how is he still going?  
  
Your body aches. Sweat drenches your hair, mats it against your head. Humidity-heavy summer heat adds to the slick of it all and it’s obvious by your breathing you’re on your last energy reserves, but even so, he asks “Just one more, sweetheart.”  
  
And this time is different. Bucky becomes more vocal. Moans and groans and grunts. All louder. More. Heady breathing and lewd wetness. You’re hot around him and soaked, so soaked it frustrates him into a backbreaking pace because he needs friction like steel to flint. Strike and strike again  
and again  
and again  
and again.  
  
Each time, heat rising. Friction almost there.  
Almost...  
Almost...  
Almost...  
There! The spark ignites and heat expands like rapid wildfire. Into you, through his veins, his body. White hot seething heat frying all inhibitions and he moans so loudly into the curve of your neck, you’re sure the entire neighborhood heard him. And you.  
  
It takes minutes for either of you to regain some sense of here and now, and Bucky chuckles when he props himself on his hands to get a good look at you. You’re a mess. A wrecked, sweating, hair-sticking-every-which-way, sated and content mess, and he couldn’t be happier that it is him who’s gotten you there.  
  
In a swift move, hand on condom, he separates your bodies just long enough to get rid of the rubber and pull on his briefs. Then he’s fast back on you, kissing all over your face. Brows, eyelids, cheeks, nose, lips, and chin.  
  
Your eyes open slowly, face scrunching up at the sight of his knowing smirk. You take the chance to be bold. “Eh... it was ok.” You tease and you swear you’ve never seen a man’s ego deflate this fast.  
  
But Bucky catches the mischief in your eyes, leans in and nips your neck. “Just Ok... hmmm... well... let me show you great then.” Before you can make any attempt at an escape, his natural hand is on your side and you’re in for it now. He tickles and teases you until you can’t breathe from laughter.  
  
“Bucky... stop. Stoooop! I surrender.” You laugh and he plops down next to you.  
He skims over your body, Vibranium cool on heated skin.  
“What does it feel like? I mean...”  
Bucky knows what you mean. “It’s all numbers. Pressure. Artificial. All at light speed. I know that this is soft.” He teases a patch of skin on your stomach. “The sensors tell me that. And that it’s skin. That it’s warm. And that I need to be gentle. But... it’s not like skin on skin. It’s like. Like there’s a barrier. Thin enough to let me feel but too thick where it doesn’t feel real. Not like...”  
“... skin on skin.” You finish for him and Bucky nods.  
  
He bites his lower lip, leans in, kisses you from mouth to chin to neck. He pulls you with him when he lays back down, and you nestle your head on his chest while he pulls the blanket over you. “Can I tell you something?” He asks.  
“Always.”  
“I... I honestly didn’t think I’d last.”  
  
There’s a pause. A little awkward. A little unbelievable. “What?” You peek up Bucky’s chest, blinking, unsure how to proceed. What else to say. And he runs a hand across his face, his ears and cheeks tinted red, and it’s more than just afterglow.  
  
Another second. Awkward and quiet. You squint at him, nose scrunched. “Could’ve fooled me.”  
And that’s what does him in. Bucky’s laugh shakes the whole bed. “God. You’re the sweetest smart-ass on the planet.” _And I love you_.  
“Thanks. I take pride in that title. Expecting a placard for my office.”  
“I’ll get you one.” This time Bucky’s the tease and you push against his chest.  
“Shuddup.”  
“Never.”  
  
But he does. And so do you. Sleep catching up fast. Some of the best Bucky’s ever had. At least, that’s how he feels when his mind comes to and you still lay cradled in his arm, hair sticking whichever way, still naked and warm. So, so warm.  
  
It’s a good thing Bucky has super-hearing. The sound of Natasha’s car pulling up in the driveway has him stir. And so does the vibration of his cell.  
  
 **To Bucky:** You up yet, or you need a few more hours???  
 **From Bucky:** Ha Ha! I’m awake. Y/N is not. Meet at the door.  
 **To Bucky:** Don’t forget to put on pants.  
  
Bucky moves as quietly as possible, as quickly as possible.  
“Hey.” He greets Nat with a whisper, ruffles Max’s hair. “Your mom’s still sleeping. Go watch some TV, ok? But not too loud.”  
“Ok.”  
  
Max is too adorable. The way his backpack is way too big on his shoulders as he bounces past Bucky. The way he plops on the floor, remote in hand, and, like a pro, finds his favorite cartoon. The way he sits his toys next to himself to watch along.  
  
Nat observes, notices the mussed up hair and the Henley is inside out, a crooked smile on her face when Bucky returns his attention to her.  
“What?”  
“Nothing.” Nat keeps on smirking, waggling a knowing brow and Bucky rolls his eyes. “Did you two even make it out the door?”  
Bucky sucks in a breath, lowers his head. “Nope.”  
“And?”  
“Jesus. Nat. Her son is right there!”  
“Not asking for details. But...”  
  
Bucky knows what Nat is asking. He shakes his head in disbelief, his cheeks speckled pink. “It was... great. Perfect.”  
A whispered “yay”, Nat leans a kiss on Bucky’s cheek, hands over Max's overnight bag. “Good for you.”  
“Thanks? I think.”  
Nat snickers. She tilts to glance behind Bucky, sees Max still watching TV. “Call me. Whenever you need a night. You know.” She waggles her brows again, laughs on her way to the car when Bucky tells her to “Go, or else.”  
  
A moment of silence.  
Serenity.  
Peace.  
  
A creak on the stairs and Bucky’s reflexes have him scan for the source.  
“Thought I heard Natasha.” You whisper.  
Bucky stands there, smiling, taking you in. Hair messy, smudged mascara, and in his crinkled T-shirt, a hint of lace at the hem, you’re the most beautiful sight to him. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” _My love._ He whispers, and so do you.  
“I don’t mind. Where’s Max?”  
“Living room. Watching TV.”  
  
You scrunch up your face. A few steps up, you’re taller than Bucky, you fist his Henley to pull him up and give him a kiss. “Gonna take a shower.”  
“Do you want breakfast?”  
“Right now, I’d prefer a coffee. But if you’re making food, toast is fine. Nothing too big.”  
“Anything for you, beautiful.”  
  
He winks then makes his way to the kitchen, Max in his peripheral. “How was camping?”  
“It was great.”  
“Ah yeah. What you guys do?”  
“We caught fireflies. And Lila let me shoot an arrow with her bow. And auntie Nat showed us how to throw knives.”  
  
Bucky’s eyes go wide for a moment. _Shit!_ “She did what?”  
“Yeah. She showed us how to throw them. But she said we’re not allowed to inside the house. Only when we’re outside. And only if adults are there. And only at the circles.”  
There’s a very audible sigh of relief. “The targets, huh? She’s right. Safety first.”  
  
Bucky sets up the coffeemaker, pulls butter and jam from the fridge. Ready to set the table, he watches as Max pats over and pulls himself up on one of the tall chairs. A box of crayons at the center, Max grabs the sketchbook in front of the box, starts drawing trees and flowers and a tiny house on a blank page.  
  
“Bucky?” Max’s voice is tiny and solemn and Bucky stops dead in his tracks.  
“Yes, Buddy.”  
There’s a very long pause, the only noise the crayons scratching on paper. “Can you be my dad?”  
  
 _What?_ Bucky’s brain stalls. How is he supposed to answer that? Should he even answer that? “Uhm... I think we need to ask your mom about that.” _Is it hot in here? Why is it so warm? Was this place always so small? Shit!_ “Hey. Uhm. You think you gonna be ok for a few minutes by yourself? Until your mom’s out of the shower.”  
  
Bucky waits and Max nods. “Ok. Good. I... uh... I gotta go. Something important came up. Ok? You sure you’ll be ok?”  
Max nods again, continues drawing, little fingers holding crayons tight.  
  
Bucky listens. He’s sure you’re still in the shower when he grabs his socks and boots and keys. He’s sure you’re just stepping out by the time he’s back downstairs and at the door.

Another second.  
A whispered “sorry”.  
And you hear the front door close with a small thud.  
  
“Bucky?” A towel wrapped around your hair, dressed in Bucky’s T-shirt and a pair of shorts, you make your way downstairs, see Max sitting by the table. “Hey, sweetie. Where’s Bucky?”  
“He left.”  
 _He what?_ “Did he say why?”  
  
Max shrugs, scribbling last details. “He said something important came up.” Your son hops off the chair, gets his backpack and his toys. “Can I go upstairs?”  
“Of course, sweetie.”  
  
You wait a few minutes then dial Bucky’s number. Straight to voicemail. You dial again. Voicemail again.  
  
 **To Bucky:** Hey. What happened? Max said you had to leave. Everything ok?  
  
Nothing. No reply. No “message read”. Not five minutes later. Not ten.  
  
You dial again. Three rings in, the other side picks up. “Hey. Uh... hey listen. I totally understand if you can’t tell me anything, but uhm... I was wondering. Did the team get sent on mission?”  
“Not that I know. Why?” Natasha sounds genuinely surprised and you hitch a breath.  
“Nothing. It’s nothing. I just... needed to check. Is all.” You can feel the tears pricking at your eyes. Feel the air getting cut off. _Damn it. I should’ve known_.  
“What’s going on?” Natasha waits, hears a sob or two. “Y/N? What happened? Tell me.”  
“Bucky... left.”  
“He did WHAT? Hold on. I’ll be right there!  
  



	4. Part IV: Opus Palladianum - The Mosaic of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bring on the angst. So much angst. Cuss words. Abandonment issues. Hospital mentions. Minor mentions of surgical procedures. Fertility issues (male). Bucky is being a stupid fool because he's Bucky but I promise, you will not stay mad at him.  
> Reader's child does have a name. It's Max.  
> Internal thoughts are in Italics.

  
**To Bucky:** Where are you?  
 **To Bucky:** What is your problem, Barnes? Your girlfriend is upset. Call her!  
 **To Bucky:** When I get a hold of you, you can bet your little super-soldier ass that you’re chopped liver!  
 **To Bucky:** Seriously. Where are you hiding, трус!?!?!  
  
Natasha isn’t holding back. She’s sent at least twenty texts, from worrying to threatening. Most in English. Some in very, VERY expletive Russian.  
  
“You’re not going to be able to ignore her forever.” Steve chuckles, trying to ease the tightrope tension that Bucky’s brought inside.  
A menacing glare, Bucky is clearly not amused.  
“I don’t get it. What happened? Things were going well and now they’re not?” Steve is confused and getting answers is like pulling teeth.  
  
Bucky sits on the sofa, arms crossed, as brooding as ever he shakes his head.  
“Ok, so you don’t want to tell me but fuck, you can’t just cut Y/N out like that. It’s not fair to her. Or her son.”  
“You think I don’t know that?” Bucky growls. At least it’s a verbal response.  
“Okay. So again. What the fuck happened?”  
  
Bucky inhales deeply. Exhales. “Something I didn’t think about before.”  
“Okay. Care to elaborate?” Steve gestures with his hands for more but Bucky closes off again. “Fucking hell. You’re a pain in the ass!”  
“Language?”  
“Don’t language me! I invented that! I’m not a mind reader. And I’m damn as hell sure your girl isn’t either. So yeah, Barnes, you’re a pain in the ass!” Wow! It takes a lot to piss Steve off nowadays but once that level reaches ‘this’ high there's no turning back.  
  
The doorbell interrupts and there’s a moment where both men wonder if the neighbors have had enough of the yelling.  
“I knew, you’d be the one to hide him!” Bucky hears Natasha before he sees her.  
The redhead storms into the living room, arms crossed, she stops in front of Bucky and short of smacking him over the head. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”  
“You told her I’m here?” Bucky looks to Steve, incredulously.  
“I didn’t tell her anything. Wait... how did you know?” Steve looks to Natasha and she rolls her eyes.  
“Your fiancé ratted you out.” She jabs her pointer finger into Steve’s chest and the man actually winces in pain.  
  
Fierce eyes back on Bucky, Natasha’s jaw sets tight. “You know, we’ve been through some shit together. Out of this world kind of shit. And I know most of your... faults or whatever you wanna call them, but I didn’t think you were capable of this!”  
“What the fuck are you talking about?”  
“Walking out on Y/N.”  
“I didn’t exactly walk...”  
“Really? What would you call just taking off without a word?”  
  
Bucky hangs his head in shame. She’s right. Natasha is right. But he didn’t know... doesn’t know how to broach the subject. Not without sounding as though he’s rejecting you. You and Max.  
Nat sighs, takes a seat next to Bucky and folds a hand over his. “Look. I don’t know what’s going on. She doesn’t know what’s going on. But you do owe her an explanation.”  
“I know.”  
  
“Good. And you gonna give her one. She’s outside. With Max.”  
“You brought them here? Fuck. Nat! What the fuck?”  
“What? You’re not getting off that easy! Look, you’re one of my best friends. I care about you. I’ve seen you these last few months. Don’t ruin this over some... I don’t even know why you’re willing to walk away. You’re happy. I know you are! So... Talk to her!”  
  
Bucky sighs. They’re right. His friends are right. The last few weeks, months have been... amazing. Brighter. Bucky nods, braces himself for the storm to come. For your face. The one he never wanted to be cause of. The one that could level entire cities.  
  
Natasha steps out and a few minutes later returns, Max on her hand, you behind the two. An uncomfortable silence drapes the room. Thick and heavy, it’s suffocating as it lingers on.  
A gentle cough, all eyes are on you. “Natasha, do you mind taking Max outside? I think I saw a playground on the way here.”  
“Sure thing. And there was an ice-cream truck. I mean, that’s if Max is allowed to have ice-cream?”  
You smile a tired smile when you see Max’s eyes go big. “Ok. But no more than two scoops.”  
Max hugs you tight, his little arms barely reaching around you. “Thanks, mom.”  
  
“I think I’m gonna go join them. Keep the neighborhood save from their shenanigans.” Steve chuckles, runs a nervous hand over the back of his neck.  
“Thank you, Captain Rogers.” You smile but it’s stiff. At this point it’s more about holding your composure than anything. Any change in pitch or posture and you’ll probably break down.  
“Oh... uh... It’s Mister Rogers now, or just Steve.” Steve looks between you and his friend, waits a beat, coughs nervously when neither of you speak. “Take your time.”  
  
The door closed, the silence seems to spread. Heavier than before. Painful, almost. You stand with your back to Bucky, eyes still on the door where you’d watched Steve disappear, a hand tight on the strap of your purse.  
  
You hear movement. A soft sweep of fabric. A gentle sigh. You know Bucky is standing now. You can feel his towering presence behind you. Yet, you don’t move. _How could he? Why?_ “Why’d you do it?”  
“Doll. Listen...”  
  
“No!” You do a one-eighty, drop your purse, and Bucky takes a step back. There it is. The face he never wanted to be the recipient of. The look that could destroy a whole city. A whole world. His world. “You listen! How could you? I thought you were different. But really it was all a ploy, wasn’t it? To charm yourself into my god damn bed. And then once you’ve used me you just up and leave?!?”  
  
“What? No... doll. Please. That’s not...”  
“I’m not finished!” Oh shit! If looks could kill, Bucky would be dead right now. “Do you have any idea how that made me feel? Do you?” You pause to breathe. To try and hang on. Tears stinging at the brim, threatening to fall. “You made me feel cheap and used. A quick ... a quick fuck.” You stammer the last words, tears spilling over and leaving thick tracks on your face.  
  
Bucky’s never hated himself more than right now. And there have been many moments when he’d hated himself. Most after he’d read his file on things he’d done. Things he had no control over. Things Hydra had made him do.  
  
But this moment hurts more than the truth of who he used to be. He hangs his head, doesn’t know what to say or do. He really fucked this up. Really, really fucked this up. He whispers your name, but you don’t move.  
  
You stand with your face in your palms, crying, and the sight is like daggers to Bucky’s heart. _God damn it, Barnes. You fool! You stupid, stupid fool!_ “Y/N. Please. Please listen.” Bucky closes in, takes you into his arms and you don’t resist, just fall apart more.  
  
 _Damn. Damn damn damn._  
  
It takes a few minutes before tears taper off. Before crying turns to soft sniffles. Bucky cradles your head with one hand, holds you close against himself with the other and kisses into your hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I... I should’ve stayed. Told you what happened. But I panicked. And when I panic, I do stupid things.” Bucky pauses, listens to your breathing, pulls you impossibly closer. “It’s not an excuse, only an explanation. It’s all I have.”  
  
You wipe your face on Bucky’s shirt, your next word muffled. “Why?”  
Bucky’s chest lifts with a heavy breath, heart strumming with fear. “Max asked if I can be his dad.”  
For a moment there’s nothing. No movement. No sound. Bucky actually checks to see if you’re still breathing.  
  
“You’re right. You should’ve stayed.” You lift your head, tired eyes searching for Bucky’s. “Why didn’t you?”  
“I told you. I panicked.”  
“Why?”  
  
Bucky lets go, steps back, slight tension in his stance. “I know you know who I am. Who I was. What I did. Even if we don’t talk about it.”  
“It’s not exactly a secret.”  
“And that’s the problem.”  
  
Bucky sees the confusion in your eyes. Sees you trying to piece it together. Trying to understand. He’s sure you get what he means. It’s in your eyes. But he needs to emphasize. “There are people who will do anything to get to me. It’s like putting a target on you. On Max. I could never, NEVER forgive myself if anything happened to you. Both of you.”  
  
You shake your head, pace to the sofa. “No one can live like this long-term.” You take a seat, pull your legs to the side, pat the spot next to you. “Aren’t you tired? Living like that? Worrying?”  
  
Bucky joins you, slides your legs over his thighs, runs his hand up and down your calves. “Truth be told, I never had to worry before. Not like this. I mean.” He pauses, sighs. “There’s Steve. But it’s different now. He’s different. He can handle himself. And I worry about my friends but this... this is different. You’re different.”  
  
Damn those eyes.  
Those intense, steel blue eyes.  
You sweep a hand down Bucky’s face, thumb on his Cupid’s bow. “Do you ever wonder why Max doesn’t talk about his father? Why I don’t mention him?”  
Bucky shakes his head. “I figured it’s a sore subject. Not in my place to bring it up.”  
“It is.” You admit. “Because there’s nothing worse than a parent breaking their child’s heart.”  
  
Bucky plays with your fingers, laces his with yours, strokes the back of your hand with his thumb and waits.  
“I was young when I married. Young and stupid.”  
“Not possible.” Bucky disagrees and you huff out a breath.  
“Maybe naive is a better word. I thought it would last forever. And I thought we wanted the same things. Had the same goals. I was happy when I found out I was pregnant.”  
  
“Your ex wasn’t?”  
“Not exactly. I think he thought things wouldn’t change. I would have a child, bounce back to my old self. He was selfish. Hated that I wasn’t paying as much attention to him once Max was born. He started checking out. Emotionally. Physically.” New tears prick at your eyes and Bucky squeezes your hand.  
“You don’t have to tell me everything.”  
  
“No, I know. But I want to. I’ve wanted to for a while.”  
Bucky gives you a moment. Gives you a break to sort your thoughts.  
“He started seeing someone else. Had the divorce papers served shortly after. At least he left me the house, I guess.” You laugh a sad laugh. One that hurts Bucky’s heart. Like another dagger just sliced its way through.  
  
“But the worst thing he did was break Max’s heart. I always invited him. Birthdays, holidays, everything. I wanted to make sure that Max knew even though his parents are divorced they’re still both in his life, you know. Give my ex a chance to warm up to his son. Be a dad. And then Max’s fifth birthday, he hands Max some cheap toy and tells him that dad is moving across the country. And when Max asked if he could come visit, my ex explained that he doesn’t have the time or the space. I mean what kind of father does that?”  
  
Bucky hangs his head again, anger in his chest, he needs to take a deep breath to stay calm. Stay centered. “How did Max handle it?”  
You don’t have to answer. The way your eyes cast down is answer enough. Sad. Tired. “He hid in his room. Asked me why his father doesn’t love him. Eventually, he stopped asking. And I stopped bringing him up.”  
  
Jaw set tight, Bucky thinks he can hear his mandible snap from the pressure. A soft sweep of your hand and Bucky relaxes into your touch.  
“I wanna show you something.” You free your hand from his, walk to where you’d dropped your purse.  
  
Bucky follows, slowly, watches as you pull a folded piece of paper from your purse. You hesitate in handing it over. Need a moment to gather courage. “I guess, now I know why Max insisted I give you this.”  
Bucky is careful. Slowly unfolds the paper. Once. Twice.  
“You know. I haven’t dated much since the divorce. And I’ve been careful about who gets to meet Max. I mean, he isn’t stupid about this stuff. He knows mom goes out. But... you’re the first he ever asked. The first he's ever opened up to. And in my eyes that means something.”  
  
You wait. Let Bucky study the picture. There are trees and flowers and a tiny house. A green bike. A yellow one with a basket. Soccer balls. Even a goal. And right there, in the center are you and Max and...  
“That’s me.” Bucky slides a finger over what is clearly supposed to be his Vibranium arm. Black and gold and clunky. He can’t hide the tears pricking at his eyes. Can’t hide the wobble of his lip.  
  
“I don’t expect you take on the title. It’s something that needs thought and discussion. And I’ll talk to Max. But I need you to know, Max and I, we’re a packaged deal. A two for one. No exceptions. Good times. Bad times. All I ask is that you’re honest with me. And not just... not just take off because you think it’s an easy solution.”  
  
Bucky swallows hard, wipes away silent tears. “What if Max starts asking about my past? About the things I’ve done.”  
“We’ll tackle that when we get there. But just so you know, the honesty thing applies to all of us. And when Max is ready, old enough, I rather he find out from you than someone else.”  
  
Bucky lets the words sink in. Let’s them take hold. “Forgive me?”  
“For being an idiot? Sure.”  
Bucky chuckles under tears. _Damn it. You smart-ass_. “Yes. For being a stupid idiot.”  
  
Bucky folds the picture. Once. Twice. Three times. Small enough to fit into his wallet. Silence, again. But this time it’s lighter. Hopeful.  
“I’m gonna go get Max. When you’re ready, come home.”  
  
Home is a strong word. One that Bucky hasn’t used in a long time. Sure, he has a room at the compound. But he doesn’t consider it home. Just a place where he can rest when he’s tired. Something that’s conveniently close to work.  
  
To Bucky, home is more than that. It’s the Friday nights spent watching Toystory. And the Saturday mornings spent making pancakes that look like clouds. It’s the lunchtimes spent playing soccer before eating. The mornings spent on coffee runs. It’s the evenings spent chasing monsters away from under the bed and the nights spent falling asleep next to you. Home is warm. Alive. A place to want to return to again and again and again.  
  
Home is a strong word. “What if I’m ready now?” Bucky asks carefully, holding his breath.  
You smile, take his hand. “Then... let’s go home.”  
  
Weekends turn to all week. Except when Bucky is away on assignment. Bucky doesn’t move in all at once either. He gives it time. Almost two months. He makes sure that every time he adds something of his that you’re ok with it. Makes sure he doesn’t crowd you.  
  
It’s endearing in a way because really, Bucky doesn’t have all that much stuff. His clothes take up less than a third of your closet. His bathroom things just a small corner by the sink.  
  
If anything, Bucky has more books than all his other things combined. For that, he brings along a shelf. One that fits the living room quite well. If you didn’t know better, you’d say that it’s always been there.  
  
Max takes great interest in all the books. And Bucky promises to read with him. And he does. Whenever he’s home, he reads to your son. Short books, long books, foreign books, books with pictures, and books with nothing but words.  
  
It becomes THEIR thing. And you let them have it.  
The two once again sit on the sofa, a heavy atlas in Max’s lap, the book almost as tall as him. It’s almost comedic to see your son trying very, very hard to turn the pages without losing grip on the book.  
“Bucky?”  
“Yes, Buddy.”  
“Did you see the whole world?”  
  
Bucky chuckles and so do you. How cute is that? “Not quite. I’ve seen a lot of different places but not all of them. Not yet.”  
“Can you show me where you visited?”  
“In the book? Sure.”  
Max shakes his little head and Bucky sits surprised. “No. I mean can you take me?”  
“I’m sure I can. One day. Maybe we can take your mom along, too.” Bucky winks at you and you snicker.  
Max nods, flips to the next page. “Bucky?”  
“Yes, Buddy.”  
  
A long pause, Max flips to the next page. And somehow you brace yourself because you have a hint at what Max wants to ask. You’ve seen it in his homework folder. Last year, he’d asked you, because last year it had only be him and you. But now, with Bucky here, it doesn’t surprise you. Still, you brace yourself, because this is kind of a big thing. And you get the feeling Max knows it’s a big thing. “Will you come to career day?”  
  
Bucky freezes for a second, looks to you as though to ask for permission. You smile, mouthing a soft “it’s ok”. “You don’t want your mom to go?” Bucky asks carefully.  
“Mom does math stuff. It’s so boring.” Max rolls his eyes dramatically and really, you can’t blame Bucky for busting out in laughter, but...  
“Hey! What do you mean boring?” You pout and Bucky laughs even more.  
  
When the moment calms, Bucky pulls Max into his lap, kisses the top of his little head. “I can’t make promises, because remember how I explained that sometimes I have to leave quickly?”  
Honesty is always the best thing. Bucky has learned quickly that your son might get upset at first but he’s also learned that it doesn’t last.  
  
Right now, Max replies with a defeated “Okay”, and it does make Bucky’s heart ache a little. But he knows, come bedtime, Max will insist on his daily read of the Velveteen Rabbit and this particular moment won’t matter as long as Bucky is honest.  
  
Surprisingly, Bucky ends up having time. After some begging and the promise of cleaning her gear for a month, he convinces Natasha to tag along. “Are you scared of a bunch of second graders?”  
“It’s not the kids I’m scared of. You know me and my charming social skills.”  
Natasha laughs wholeheartedly. “So why do you need me?”  
“To make sure everyone walks away in one piece.”  
  
Bucky’s never been to anything like this. He’s been to company picnics and team parties and a few of Tony’s fundraisers. But this is a whole different thing. There are activities for specific jobs set up in the gym and on the sports field. The hallways are lined with posters and banners highlighting different careers. Schedules next to each classroom show when each parent that’s attending will hold their presentation, some slots kept open for last minute guests.  
  
All of that is manageable. What’s getting to Bucky are the small pockets of parents whispering when he walks by. It’s weird how some parents stare at him while others seem to usher their kids away from him, like scared chickens protecting their young.  
  
He doesn’t blame them but he’s honestly not sure how to make himself look less intimidating. He’s already wearing civilian clothing minus the baseball cap. Even kept the colors “dad like” as Natasha keeps teasing him about. And he’s trying, really really trying to keep his face soft and relaxed. Still...  
  
He guesses it’s not every day that two Avengers walk the hallways of this school and maybe it adds to the novelty of it all. None of it matters. He’s here for Max and you because honestly, there is nothing better than making someone’s day like this. “Hey there, Buddy.”  
Max eyes go round in surprise. “Bucky! You’re here!” The boy jumps into Bucky’s open arms and you take the chance to snap a picture.  
  
“Heya, beautiful.” Bucky stands up, leans in, and at the last second remembers where he is. “I’ll kiss you later.” He snickers and so do you.  
“Sergeant Barnes, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” Max’s second grade teacher greets with a cheery voice and stretched out hand. “Max has told us so much about you. I hope it’s ok, I put your name down next because that spot was open, so if you’re ready.”  
  
“Uh... yes. Yes. I’ll be holding the presentation with my colleague if that’s ok?” Bucky gently shakes the teacher’s hand, squints over his shoulder when he hears Natasha giggle.  
“No problem. Go ahead and set up whatever you need to set up.”  
  
The presentation goes well. Great, actually. Natasha has borrowed one of Tony’s holographic gadgets, the whole class going “woahhhhhh” when she switches it on. Bucky explains basic routines and training, skills and education needed to be part of the agency. He even tackles the barrage of questions the children have. How does the Hulk use the keyboard with his big hands? Does Captain America keep the shield at his place? Can Ant-Man talk to ants? Can Spider-Man talk to spiders? Can we touch your arm?  
  
Bucky is amazed at the curiosity behind the technology. From how it’s powered to if it’s waterproof and what happens when it stops working. He answers everything honestly and seriously, talking to the children like young adults.  
  
Even the parents are drawn in.  
“See. You still got that forties charm.” Natasha pokes, but really, Bucky thinks... No! He knows the reason he stayed relaxed is you and Max watching attentively from front center row.  
  
“You want to check out the activities?”  
“Is Bucky staying?” Max is hanging onto Bucky like a Koala, the boy all smiles and jitterbug.  
“If you want me to, yes.”  
“Yes. Yes. Bucky said he is staying.” Max is already leading the way to the gym, Bucky close behind.  
  
You snicker at the sight. Your boys.  
“So how’s it living with him?” Natasha is always straightforward. Something you’ve gotten used to over the last month or so.  
“It’s... easy?” Your face scrunches up at the uncertainty. But you can't find another word. “I mean, it’s not always sunshine and lollipops. He has nightmares now and then. Closes off when he does. And sometimes... sometimes work comes home, I guess.”  
Natasha looks to where Bucky is helping Max put on a fireman’s helmet then back to you. “You want me to talk to him?” The question is sincere.  
  
“What? No. It’s... it’s not a big deal. I’m just saying. I can tell, when it’s a bad day. And he can tell when it’s a bad one for me. Or Max.”  
Natasha studies your face. A soft smile. A little chuckle as you see Max waving at you, the fireman’s helmet way too big on his head. An exchange of winks between Bucky and you. A content sigh. “Does he know?”  
Taken off guard, your brows pull tight. “Know what?”  
“That you love him.”  
The way your face scrunches up, the answer is clearly no.  
  
You’re ready to head to the sports field when someone calls your name. “Clara. Hi. Wow. You look great.” You hug your friend, introduce her to Natasha. “Is that her?” You look into a stroller, small eyes looking back at you, little hands reaching up.  
“It is. Three months old today.” Clara supplies without prompt. She carefully undoes buckles and straps and lifts the baby to her shoulder. “Y/N, this is Emma.”  
  
“She looks just like you. May I?” You hold out your arms and Clara trades baby for purse.  
It’s funny what holding a baby does to people. There’s cooing and awing and tickling feet, scrunched faces and baby talk. Mostly from Natasha, a cause for a few raised brows.  
  
Even Bucky is a little taken aback when he hears Natasha recite nursery rhymes on his way to the small group.  
“What?”  
Bucky raises his hands, gives a lopsided smile. “Nothing.” He watches as you rock little Emma in your arms. Observes carefully when you kneel to show the baby to Max.  
“Isn’t she precious?” You ask your son and Max just stands in awe.  
“She is very small.” He states quite obviously and you chuckle.  
“Yeah. Babies are small. You used to be this small.”  
  
A few more minutes then you hand Emma back and Clara bids her farewell, the rest of her family waiting and ready to go home.  
Bucky keeps an eye on you. There’s a subtle change. Something even softer than before. Something... maternal. His stomach twists as the gears start spinning. _Not right now_. He wants to push the thought away. Needs to be present now.  
  
“Bucky?”  
“Yeah, Buddy.”  
“Can you help me?”  
“Sure thing.”  
  
The coming days are different. There’s a shift in energy. A shift in mood. You can’t put your finger on why but you can feel it. Bucky becomes restless. You know that he needs less sleep. He’s explained it to you. The serum he’d received so long ago changed many things.  
  
Even so, when Bucky gets up in the dead of night for the fifth night in a row, you follow him downstairs a few minutes later. You’re not sure what you'd expected. You figured he’d be reading. Maybe watch TV. Instead, he sits on the sofa, staring into nothingness.  
  
On one hand, you want to give him space. Maybe this is work related. And he can’t always talk about work. On the other hand, you’re worried. He’s been quiet. More so than usual. Deep in thought most times.  
  
Honesty! It’s part of the deal.  
  
“Hey.” Bucky startles at your approach. That doesn’t happen often.  
“Hey.” He whispers back, a weak smile lifting his lips.  
You sit down next to him, sweep a hand over his cheek, force his face so he looks at you. “You know, you can talk to me, right?”  
Bucky kisses into the palm of your hand, takes his time to feel your skin. “I know.”  
  
“Then... talk to me.”  
Bucky takes a long breath. _Honesty_. “Do you want more kids?”  
It’s a loaded question. Definitely left field. “I... I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. I mean... I don’t know. Maybe? Why?”  
At this point you can read Bucky fairly well. You can see the walls going up. He’s about to shut you out. “Bucky.”  
  
“I think... I think it might be best if we break up.”  
 ** _WHAT?_** “What? Why?”  
“Because, you deserve having a choice.”  
“What? What are you talking about?” Your voice raising shouldn’t be a surprise. Because what the actual fuck?  
“I can’t have kids.”  
“How do you know?”  
Bucky’s eyes narrow. There’s anger behind those blues. “Hydra made sure.”  
  
“Bucky. That doesn’t mean we can’t have more kids. There are other ways. Adoption, surrogacy, IVF with a donor...” Your voice laces with panic. He can’t be serious. He can’t want to break up over this. Over something that has many, MANY different solutions nowadays. “It’s not... it’s not a deal breaker.”  
“I saw the way you held that baby. How you looked at her. Tell me, honestly, tell me you don’t want to have another naturally.”  
  
You shake your head, not wanting to believe what you’re hearing. “Where... where is this coming from? I mean. Shit. We never talked about this before and now, what? You want to walk out?”  
“I don’t want to. I’m making the choice for us so you can be with someone who can give you everything.”  
“Are you SERIOUS? It takes two people in a relationship, **James**! This isn’t the forties. You don’t make the choice for me.”  
  
You’re yelling now. Yelling and crying. _What the fuck?_  
“Mom?” Max is at the threshold between living room and hallway, eyes wide.  
“Max, go back to bed.”  
“But Mom is crying.”  
“I said, get back to bed!” Bucky’s voice booms and Max runs to you.  
  
Standing in front of you, he raises his little fists. “Don’t you yell at my mom!”  
Bucky is taken aback. Was he really that loud? “I’m not yelling. We’re talking. This is adults talking. Go back to bed.”  
“No!” Max holds his position, little fists turning white at the knuckles.  
“I think you should leave.” Your voice trembles. “I think we need a break.”  
  
Bucky doesn’t say anything else. He just nods stiffly, grabs his jacket, slams the door on his way out. **_Fuck!FUUUUUUCK!!!_**  
  
“You’re a moron, you know that?!” Miguel stands arms crossed against the kitchen counter. His messy hair and rumpled clothes would be cute at any other time, but it’s three in the morning and he’s been woken from deep sleep.  
  
At the dining room table, Steve sits just as disheveled opposite Bucky, a glass of water in hand, expression between frustration and confusion. “I don’t get it. She said it’s not a deal breaker. Why are you sabotaging yourself? This?”  
“I told you. I wanted to make sure she has a choice.” Bucky is on edge. _Why don’t they get this?_  
  
“You know, there’s more to being a dad than just donating sperm, right?”  
“Miggi!” Steve scolds but his fiancé doesn’t back off.  
“What? I’m not gonna coddle him. He needs to hear this. You’re a moron, Bucky. I mean shit, is that what you think it takes to be a dad?”  
“I know it’s more than that. But shouldn’t she have the option, if she wants another kid to have it with someone she loves. Naturally.”  
  
Miguel shakes his head, releases a frustrated huff of air. “Is that what she wants? Did she specifically say “I will only love you if put a baby in me”?” There’s rawness to the words and Miguel is not sorry for speaking his mind.  
Bucky’s jaw looks ready to snap. “She didn’t. But you’re missing the point...”  
  
“I’m not missing the point! You brought it up, she said it’s not a deal breaker. And instead of looking at the whole picture, make a choice together, you made it for her. I mean shit. You said so yourself. You want to be a dad. Then go, be a dad! There’s a kid right there who needs one. Who had one for the last, what, three, four months. Being a dad is more than biology.”  
  
Bucky can’t look his friends in the eyes. If he could, he’d see that Steve agrees, his own experiences gnawing at the back of his mind.  
The air heavy, Steve recognizes that they’re not going to make any headway right now. “Take the guest room. You’ll have to fix up the bed. I’m going back to sleep.” He squeezes Bucky’s shoulder, kisses Miguel above the brow before heading upstairs.  
  
Miguel rinses the glasses, returns to leaning against the counter. “Call her. Not now but... later.”  
“She’ll hate me.”  
“I don’t know. Maybe a little. I hate you right now for interrupting my sleep. You think I look this good au naturel. Unlike you and Steve, I need my eight hours.”  
Bucky chuckles, finally looks up. “I’m going to let it cool down. Give it a few days.”  
“Hmmm... Don’t wait too long. People like her are one in a billion.”  
“Don’t you mean million?”  
“No. I mean billion. People who can stand to be around you. One in a billion.” Miguel really doesn’t coddle.  
  
Bucky decides to give you and himself three days and three nights. And he knows it will be the three longest days he’s ever lived. He’s already counting the seconds.  
  
He keeps mostly to himself. In fact, he’s requesting time off. Spends it mostly in Steve’s and Miguel’s guest room. It doesn’t keep him from checking in on you. Indirectly that is.  
“Did she eat lunch?”  
“I don’t know.” Steve sets the table. The kitchen smells like brisket and twice-baked baked potatoes. “Before you ask, I’m not asking F.R.I.D.A.Y to keep an eye on her.”  
“I wasn’t going to.”  
  
But Bucky wishes he could. Why does each second feel like ten? Not even his favorite movies make them go faster. And forget about reading. Bucky’s been on the same page since an hour, the words not processing at all.  
  
He throws the book on the floor, tries to get comfortable but the bed feels empty without you. Cold. Too quiet, Bucky misses the sound of your breathing. The little rustling when you move. Your heart beating a steady soothing pace. Such a steady, soothing, even...  
  
Bucky has no clue when he fell asleep. All he knows is that he’s shaken awake by the sound of his cell ringing every half minute. The display is blinding in the dark, even to a super-soldier. _Shit!_ Five missed calls from you. Several texts as well.  
  
 **To Bucky:** Please call me back.  
 **To Bucky:** Bucky, are you awake?  
 **To Bucky:** I will call again once I’m at the hospital.  
  
All alarms go off and Bucky’s never dialed any number as fast as yours.  
“What happened?” Bucky tries to hold it together but he’s scared. So fucking scared. “Y/N? Are you ok? Is Max ok? Sweetheart, please talk to me. Please.” All Bucky hears for at least ten long, ten very very long seconds are sobs and he swears he feels his heart give out. “Sweetheart. Breathe with me. In. And out.”  
“I’m at Saint Mary’s. Max is in surgery. Please. Bucky. Please. I don’t wanna be alone. I mean... I can call Natasha if you don’t....”  
“No! I’m on my way.” It’s instantaneous. Automatic. “Ten minutes, sweetheart. Hang in there.”  
  
Right now, Bucky is grateful for living in the twenty-first century. He stays on the phone with you the entire time. Thank god for hands-free devices. He tries to calm you when you feel the air getting cut off. Listens when the nurses talk to you, explaining what they’re doing.  
  
Bucky is sure he’s run a few stop signs. Wants to push his luck through red lights. But the last thing he needs are cops on his tail.  
When he reaches Saint Mary’s, it’s a miracle that he doesn’t plow over a few pedestrians as he parks. An even greater miracle that he doesn’t shatter the sliding doors in his rush inside.  
  
He’s by the front desk of the surgery department when he hears his name. “Hey.” It takes him less than a second to get to you. Less than two seconds to hug you into his body. Less than three for you to fall apart again. “Shhh... it’s ok. It’ll be ok. Max will be ok.” Bucky holds you for as long as you need. Takes your hand when you’re ready to take a seat in the waiting area.  
  
“They said his appendix ruptured. So the surgery will take longer.” You cry again and Bucky pulls you close to himself, so close you’re pretty much curled up into his lap. “He... he looked so little. Like when he was a baby. And I wanted to hold him so badly. I want to hold my baby.”  
Bucky listens, kisses the top of your hair.  
  
He doesn’t know what to say. Isn’t sure if he should. But you’ve called him. Wanted him by your side. “Max is a tough nugget. I’m sure he’ll be kicking the soccer ball in no time. I still have a mark on my head from when we played last weekend.”  
You sniffle and chuckle at the same time, wiping away tears as you look up. “Bucky... you know. About the break. I was trying to understand why. I still don’t. I just... you hurt me when you said you’re willing to walk away so easily...”  
  
Bucky tenses up. He’s hurt you. God. He never wants to hear that again. Never! _How could I?_ “I never said it’s an easy choice. I thought it’s the better choice. Give you a chance to be with someone who can give you everything. Naturally. Be happy.”  
You sit up, brows furrowed. “What makes you think I’m not happy with what I got? With how things are?”  
“I’m not sure. Maybe that’s what scares me. That there will always be that one thing I can’t give you. That one day you’ll resent me for it. That I’m not enough like this.”  
  
Sometimes, lightning strikes twice in the same place. You play with Bucky’s hands, fingers intertwining as you lay your head on his chest. “That’s exactly what scares me. That we’re not enough. That you’ll keep looking for something to make things whole when we already are. Individually and... together.”  
  
 _Together_. “Are we together?” Bucky treads carefully. The moment is fragile, like a cracked windowpane threatening to shatter with the smallest amount of pressure.  
One second still feels like ten. “I’d like to be.”  
Bucky sighs in relief. How could he ever have thought otherwise. “Me, too.”  
  
The night stretches on. Exhaustion sets in. Not even the hard chairs of the waiting area prevent you from lolling off. At least your head is resting comfortably, cradled against Bucky’s chest.  
  
Bucky is close to falling asleep himself when the gentle voice of a nurse pulls him back. “Sorry. Are you Max’s parents?”  
Bucky answers without second thought. “Yes. We are.”  
“Oh, good. You should wake your wife so you can join your son in the recovery room when he wakes up.”  
“Is he ok?” Bucky whispers. He wants to know before waking you. Just in case.  
“His vitals are stable. The surgeon will explain everything.”  
  
Bucky is gentle when he wakes you, swipes an index over your cheek. “Sweetheart. Max is out of surgery. The nurse said we can go see him.”  
It takes a moment to fully wake up, sleep set deep in your bones.  
Bucky helps you to your feet, takes your belongings into his Vibranium arm while he holds your hand with his natural one.  
  
The recovery room is dim, monitors beeping, nurses checking charts every ten minutes. Bucky can see what you’d meant. Max looks tiny on the medical bed. So, so tiny.  
“He looks so small.” You whisper, new tears running tracks down your face. You sweep a hand across your son’s forehead. Leave a kiss after, then Bucky holds you again.  
  
The surgeon shows up five minutes later, explains what was done, what is ahead. “It will be about four weeks before your son is fully healed. That means no roughhousing, no sports, no heavy lifting. Only walks. He’s on antibiotics and will be for two weeks. He’ll also be receiving pain medication and keep the IV in for hydration. We’d like to keep him here for the next three nights.”  
  
You nod like you understand, but really, your brain can only handle about half of the information and your face gives it away. Bucky steps in, asks questions about dosage, wound care, and diet. “That’s a lot. Do you have a pamphlet with all the information?”  
  
“Yes. And the nurse will print out specific instructions on the day your son goes home, so you’ll know exactly how much medication he can take and what he can eat. It will also include follow-up appointments and a report for his pediatrician.”  
  
Bucky nods, thanks the surgeon, and takes a seat next to you. He observes as you carefully fold a hand over Max’s left, the stress of the night still evident on your face.  
  
Another five minutes and Max starts to stir, his mouth twitching as he comes to. His little eyes open slowly and he looks around. “Dad, can I have ice-cream now?” Max must still be half asleep, still caught in some dream. Bucky can’t explain his slip of the tongue otherwise.  
But he doesn’t correct. Doesn’t want to. “Sure, Buddy. I’ll get you all the ice-cream you can eat.”  
“Mom?”  
“Yes, sweetie.”  
“Do you want ice-cream?” Your son's voice is dry, cracking at the last part.  
You laugh softly, swipe a finger over your son’s face. “Maybe later.”  
  
One of the nurses stops by, takes vitals, checks charts. “Can you wiggle your toes for me?” “Great.” “How about your fingers?” “Great job.” She asks Max some questions. Asks you if you have any. Asks Bucky as well. The nurse types up results, checks the IV. “Alright. Another thirty minutes and your son will be sent upstairs. I’ll check back in ten.”  
  
Ideas strike at the oddest moments. Suddenly Bucky has to leave. He kisses your forehead, then Max’s. “I promise I’ll be back soon. Now remember, no flirting with the nurses. Or the doctors.” He looks to both, you and Max, and Max snickers.  
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You smirk. “Just don’t take too long.” You tack on with a wink and Bucky makes a face of disbelief.  
“Grabbing some coffee on the way back. Want anything else?”  
“Ice-cream?” Max hasn’t forgotten.  
“I’ll see if I can charm the nurses into allowing it.”  
“Hey! If we can’t flirt with the staff, then neither can you.”  
Bucky chuckles at your pouty lips and raised brow. “Deal.”  
  
Bucky is as fast as he can make it. Morning traffic clogs the streets to your house. The key has magically disappeared into the depths of his pockets. And he nearly trips on Slinky on the way upstairs. Somehow, he doesn’t care. He could trip on a mountain of Legos right now and it wouldn’t bother him, so long it happens here. At your house.  
  
Bucky finds what he’s searching for, bags it, and makes his way back to the hospital. He stops by the cafeteria, the place crowded with the next shift and those going home. He’s usually great at picking up individual conversations. Could describe what makes each person unique down to the last freckle. But it’s a jumble today. All he wants is to get back to you and Max.  
  
“Hi. I’m looking for Max Y/L/N ‘s room.”  
The nurse behind the desk gives Bucky a once-over, eyes lingering on his Vibranium hand, then smiles widely. “You must be dad. Your son is waiting. He’s been asking nonstop about you. Let me take you.” The nurse takes lead and Bucky follows, heart strumming.  
  
“Max. Look who’s here.”  
Max’s smile reaches ear to ear and Bucky can tell he wants to jump off the bed. “Careful there, Buddy. Don’t want your stitches to tear.”  
“Looks like your dad brought you all the different flavors of Jell-O.” The nurse points out cheerily. She takes vitals, checks over lines.  
“But I wanted ice-cream.” Max’s pout is too cute.  
“I tried, Buddy. I really tried. But the nurse at recovery said you can only have this right now. But if you don’t want them, I’ll gladly eat them. Hospital Jell-O is my favorite.”  
  
A flash of panic across your son’s face and you laugh wholeheartedly. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’m sure ‘Dad’ will share.”  
Bucky notices the emphasis on the word. Doesn’t say a word, just smiles at you.  
  
It doesn't go past that Bucky doesn’t correct. Not you and not when the surgeon had said “your son” to him or the recovery nurse or just now, in the presence of the pediatric nurse. He doesn’t correct it. Doesn’t even wince at “your son”, “dad”, “your parents”, “mom and dad”.  
A lingering stare and Bucky smiles. “You ok, sweetheart?”  
Another eternity felt second, you return the smile. “I am. Very much.”  
  
“Well. Coffee for Mom. And a bagel. Jell-O for Max. And I’ll read this while you two eat.” Bucky pulls a book from the bag, takes seat on a chair next to the bed.  
“That’s my favorite book.”  
Bucky is sure the light could be off and the room would still be bright as day. That’s how happy Max is. “I know. That’s why I brought it. Alright... here we go. The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be...”  
  
“They look great together.”  
“They sure do. I’ve never seen Steve so happy.” Bucky gazes at his best friend dancing with Miguel. Their first dance as husband and husband, Steve is as lithe on his feet as way back when. Even dips his love, procures a unified “awe” when he kisses Miguel on the way back up.  
  
Open arms are an invitation for everyone else to join the dance floor. “Well. Here’s my chance to practice.” You cut in and Miguel trades Steve’s hand for yours.  
  
“I take it he’s petered out huh?” Steve chuckles at Max laying curled up in Bucky’s arms.  
“Totally. Thanks. For letting him be ring bearer.”  
“Of course."  
  
Bucky glances across the room, sees you still dancing with Miguel. If he remembers correctly, this song is called The Macarena.  
Steve’s eyes follow, too. He chuckles when he sees an exasperated Miguel trying to teach you the moves in the correct order, Sam and Natasha following as well. A rare thing to see friends relaxed and happy. As if their careers couldn't take them away in the blink of an eye.  
  
“I gotta ask you a favor.” Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off you when he asks. He’s lost taking in the moment. Your laugh, your silly dance moves, the way you wave his way when you see him.  
“Eh... you come here, on the day of my wedding.” Steve jokes and Bucky laughs. “What do you need?”  
  
Bucky’s attention on Steve, the moment turns serious. “I need you to ask if there’s another civilian position open. Advisor. Or instructor. Anything to get me out of active status.”  
Steve studies his friend. There’s no surprise really. He’s been waiting for this day. “I take it she said yes.”  
  
Bucky’s cheeks glow in soft pink. He kisses the top of Max’s head. Continues to watch you dance. Memory perfect moment. Mosaic growing, another piece falls into place. “She did. They both did."


	5. Part V: Kaleidoscopic Reflections - Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! Didn't actually think I'd end it like that, did you?
> 
> GET YOUR TISSUES READY. Fluff. Sweet, heart-wrenching fluff that will make you cry tears of joy! Some hints at smexy times but it's nothing graphic. Just memories. Keep in mind, that once you reach the end of this epilogue, that Bucky met reader in 2024ish, maybe a little earlier.
> 
> xReader. Y/N = Your Name Y/L/N Your Last Name. This time, past conversations are in Italics.

  
  
“MooOOOoom. We’re going to be late and then I won’t be able to participate. And then you’ll have to explain to your future, hypothetical future grandchildren why there aren’t any pictures.”  
  
Bucky sits by the kitchen island, laughs softly at the impatience in Max’s voice before he takes a sip of his coffee. “We have plenty of time, son.”  
“Shhh... don’t let mom hear. She’ll take even longer. Really, I don’t know what the big deal is.”  
“She wants to look great for the pictures.”  
  
Max rolls his eyes dramatically. “Isn’t this supposed to be my day?”  
“It is. And your mom wants to make sure she captures it all perfectly, including herself. Now stop complaining and get your tie. I’ll be in the office.”  
  
Bucky finishes his coffee, makes his way to the addition of the house, his natural hand skimming over painted drywall. How he’d loved building it. Loves that it had been a family plus friends project. One where Steve and Miguel had helped raise the frame. One where Max had learned to use paintbrushes and measuring tape and power tools. One where you’d helped install hardwood floors and build shelves for Bucky’s growing library.  
  
The large armchair by the ceiling-to-floor windows shows its age. Worn in, fading fabric, Bucky has spent a many nights in it, reading. To Max, to you, to himself. Bucky takes a seat in it now, scans the room through memory-clouded eyes and smiles.  
  
An antique record player sits on a small table, a selection of vinyls in a box beneath. It had been an early wedding gift from Steve. The first items, actually, to take up space in this room, even before the shelves. _“I’m sure you two want to practice your first dance. Let me know if you need help. The best man shouldn’t outshine the groom, after all.”_ Bucky still laughs at the shit-eating grin Steve had sported that day. As if Bucky had forgotten that he’d taught Steve way back when. That punk.  
  
The desk had been a birthday present from you. An actual 1940s restored oak desk with original brass pulls and hidden compartment. With it, you’d given him an executive leather chair wrapped in a big, red bow. Bucky smirks. Good memories. Stolen kisses. Blindfolded games. Sweetest moans. Other things. More than once.  
  
The wall behind the desk is covered from top to bottom, and anyone looking at it would probably call it a disastrous collection of mismatched frames and color, but Bucky doesn’t care. The frames hold his favorite memories. A colorful mosaic of picture perfect moments. Each one as important as the next and the ones before.  
  
In a blue frame is the snapshot from career day. In a purple one, one of Bucky reading to Max. The book? The Velveteen Rabbit, of course.  
A larger, red-and-green checkered frame displays the first Halloween together. Max is dressed as Buzz Lightyear, you as Bo-Peep, and Bucky as Sheriff Woody and giving you a cheeky kiss.  
  
Bucky laughs. Tony had offered, actually offered, to make a pint-sized working spacesuit for Max (wings and jet pack included). And had it not been for your stern-faced “I don’t think so”, Bucky would have totally agreed. In hindsight, it was probably a good thing you’d stood your ground.  
  
A long silver frame with silver bells holds a collection of snapshots. The first shared Christmas. Pictures of you and Max and Bucky unwrapping presents by the tree, each followed by the reactions to the gifts:  
Max jumping with joy as he squeezes a Velveteen Rabbit replica.  
Bucky getting misty-eyed over a simple black bicycle.  
And you gasping at the silver pendant with three, set-in diamonds.  
  
 _“Max helped me pick it out. A diamond for each of us. I had our first initials engraved on the back. I hope... it’s ok.”  
“Bucky... it’s... it’s perfect.”_  
Bucky smiles again. He’d known that day that you’d get the matching ring coming Valentine's Day. That memory is kept in a heart-shaped frame. A screen-captured moment from a video, it shows Bucky on one knee and you hiding your face behind the palms of your hands, trying to hold back tears.  
  
The biggest and most important frame is white. With flower and leaf accents, it hangs central on the wall. Unlike all other photographs, the one in this particular frame had been taken by a professional.  
  
There are candid moments from that day too, of course. Cake cutting. First dance. Smiled conversations between friends. Bucky has an entire scrapbook filled with them. Actually, he has two entire scrapbooks from that day, the second signed “With Love, from Wanda and Vision” “PS: I kept the last pages blank for honeymoon pictures.”  
But to this day, that particular photograph -the one in the white frame with flower and leaf accents to match your dress- still makes Bucky teary-eyed.  
  
“You ok, dad?” Max’s voice is hushed as to not startle.  
Bucky forces a smile, wills back the tears. “I am. You got the tie?”  
“Yup. Was wondering. Could you help me? I want it to be perfect. I mean, even with the mirror, I just can’t seem to get it as neat as you.”  
Bucky chuckles, stands up, takes the tie from Max’s hand.  
  
The two stand nearly the same height now. If it wasn’t for the serum, they’d likely stand equal. Bucky slides the tie around Max’s neck, starts a Full Windsor knot. “Remember the first time you had to wear a tie?”  
Max studies his father’s face, smiles. “Wedding day.”  
“Hmmm... it was more than a wedding day.”  
“I know, dad. It’s also the day you signed my adoption paper.”  
Bucky adjusts the tie, smoothes it out, makes sure it sits right. “It’s the day we officially became a family.” He smiles, looks to the picture in the white frame, at the moment he'd become Max’s dad, a legal guardian as the paper had stated, and right after he’d said “I do” to you, his wife.  
  
The photographer had captured it perfectly. The post-kiss smile on your face. The enthusiastic anticipation on Max’s face. The focused crease as to not mess up the signature on Bucky’s face.  
  
The crease had been more than that. It had been a mix of anxiety and stand your ground. Voice his opinion, if needed with fists. You’d asked. Bucky remembers. Muffled phone-call conversations, you’d called your ex a felt million times. In reality, you’d only called on three separate occasions. Tears and heartache were all that had come out of it.  
 _“He said he doesn’t care. Hung up on me. Right after he said to fuck off.” Tears. Heavy, sorrowful, heartbroken.  
“Sweetheart. It’s his loss, not yours. Not Max’s. And honestly, my gain. Our gain.”_  
  
“Dad?”  
“Hmmmm.”  
“You ok?”  
“What? Oh... yes. I’m great. I got something for you.” Bucky rounds his desk, opens a drawer.  
“I said not to get me anything, dad. I have everything I need. I mean, unless it’s a new car. Cause...”  
  
“What’s wrong with the one you have?” Bucky stops dead in his tracks and waits, serious, very serious expression on face.  
Max laughs wholeheartedly. Is there such a thing as dad face? “Nothing. Just wanted to see your reaction. Car is fine. I swear.” Max keeps laughing and Bucky shakes his head. “Seriously though, dad. You and mom being there with me is all I need.”  
  
Bucky relaxes, pulls a gift from the desk. “I know what you said. This is nothing big. Just something I thought you’d like to have. For your future place, whenever you get one.”  
  
Packed between bubble wrap and colorful paper, the gift is inspected with suspicion. “I’ve seen the videos. Where parents give their kids a bill. Is this a bill? Cause you know, I’d prefer a check.” Max cracks but he knows it’s time to stop when his dad inhales a sharp breath. “Just kidding.” Max snickers sheepishly, tearing the paper at last.  
  
It takes a few seconds before the gift comes into view. There are three layers of bubble wrap beneath the paper. Another second as Max flips the frame right side up. Another second as realization sets in. “Dad...”  
  
If Max’s eyes are any indication, Bucky would say it’s a good gift. “You kept this all these years?” Max traces a finger over the glass, outlines trees and flowers and the tiny house. Circles the green bike and the yellow bike with the basket, the soccer balls and the goal. Swipes a thumb over the people at the center. Over the black and gold and very clunky likeness of his father's Vibranium arm.  
  
“Of course I kept it. It’s our first family picture, after all.” Bucky smiles softly and Max doesn’t know what to say, other than...  
“... thank you, dad.”  
  
Tears take over. Bucky hugs his son close. His son! Holds him tight just like on career day, or that one time when Max had scraped his knee playing soccer, or that other time when Max had gone through his first heartbreak.  
“I love you, dad.”  
“Love you, too, son.”  
  
Bucky hears the shutter first. “I don’t have any space left on the wall, sweetheart.” He chuckles when he catches you taking a picture.  
“I guess we’ll just have to add another room.” You wink and for a moment Bucky actually considers the option.  
“We won’t have much backyard left if we do.”  
  
“Or you could just convert my room. Once I move.” Max states with a certain ease and you feel your heart twist. Even Bucky tenses for a second, but he can tell the words hit you harder than him.  
“Damn it. I have to fix my makeup.” You sniffle, run to the restroom.  
“Mom. Shit. Mom!” Max tries to follow but Bucky stops him with a gentle hand to the shoulder.  
“Give her space. It’s a tough day for her.”  
  
Max sighs, dishevels his hair in frustration. “Not like I’m leaving right away.”  
“She knows that.” Bucky chuckles at the sight of his son’s hair. “You’re her son. Her baby. You’ll always be her baby.” There’s a teasing undertone and Max rolls his eyes.  
“Dad. I’m not a baby anymore.”  
“I know that. Your mom knows it, too. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re our child.”  
  
Max agrees with a heavy sigh, sorts out his hair. A glance to the wall, his face lifts to a smile. “So, where are you taking mom for your tenth anniversary?”  
“I was thinking, to the moon and back.”  
“Ha ha. Very funny.”  
  
Bucky quirks a brow, confidence in his stride as he heads back to the kitchen.  
“Wait? Are you serious? To the moon? Do I even want to know how?”  
“Well, it’s not quite that far. But it will be a space flight. Tony wants to show off his newest toy. So I asked if there’s some room.”  
“Wow. Maybe I should join the agency.” There’s a microsecond where it feels as though the air got sucked from the room and Max can tell his dad isn’t happy with that statement. “You know I’d never, right? RIGHT?”  
  
There’s a long pause while Bucky exhales. “You’ll make your own choices. Whatever you do, we’ll support you. But I’m not going to lie, I’d prefer if you stayed far, FAR away from S.H.I.E.L.D. and all its connected agencies.”  
  
Max holds his chin between index and thumb. “Mhmmm mhmmm... I hear what you’re saying. You know.” He pauses, deadpans. “You sound just like uncle Steve.”  
“Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”  
Max shrugs. “Both.” Bucky raises a brow, unimpressed, and Max loses himself laughter. “Come on, dad. That was a good one. I’ve had to put up with your dad jokes for years. This wasn’t nearly as bad.”  
Bucky makes a face, squares his shoulders. “Are you saying I’m not funny?”  
Max just shrugs again. “Pretty much.”  
“Oh... you! Come here. Where you goin'?”  
  
Laughter is the best medicine. So you tell yourself as you look in the bathroom mirror, once again wiping away a tear. This is supposed to be a cheerful day. **_It is_** a cheerful day. But really, certain things are plucking at your heartstrings. Especially today.  
  
Where did the time go? One day Max is this tiny little being just getting to know the world and now, seemingly in the blink of an eye, he’s taller than you. But time hasn’t passed entirely without leaving its marks. Little traces that it is indeed quite real. It’s in the stray grays in your hair, in the few extra wrinkles around your eyes, and maybe in that extra pound or two on your hips, something that Bucky never seems to pass up touching and squeezing and kissing and...  
  
You snicker. You remember the first time you’d caught sight of a gray hair. You’d actually plucked it out. And then you’d found another and another and another.  
 _“Bucky?”  
“Yes, sweetheart.”  
“I’m old.”  
“What?”  
“Look at this. Grays. I'm going gray.”  
“Hmmm.”  
“What?”  
“I kind of like it.”  
_Combined with that steel-blue gaze, Bucky had made sure that you knew just how much. Those moments had been great before. That night, however, had been like the end and the beginning of the universe. Quite literally, the Big Bang. There are still times when you ask “like that one night and nothing less”, and Bucky will give you that and much, MUCH more. All you have to do is ask.  
  
A knock on the door, you jump at the noise.  
“Sweetheart? You ok in there?”  
You dab your eyes one last time and open the door. “Yes.”  
Bucky gives you one of those smiles, the kind that means a soft kiss is imminent.  
  
“Oh my god! Really? I sent you to get her not to make out.” Max makes a face and you push Bucky by the chest.  
“That’s how babies are made.” You fib.  
“Mom. I’m eighteen. I know that it takes more than kissing to make babies. I’ve known since I was like eleven. Dad told me.”  
You quirk a surprised brow. “Wait. You two had the talk? Then why did you watch me explain everything again?”  
Bucky laughs, kisses above your brow. “Because, it’s different when a woman explains it. Figured he should hear both sides.”  
  
You shake your head, give both a short glare, then fall into laughter. “Well. I guess we better get.”  
“If you want a good parking spot, yes. Otherwise you might end up having to walk a mile or two.” Max grabs the car keys and waits. “Mom? You ok?”  
  
Tears again. Dammit. They prick and prick and prick. You take a deep breath, check Max’s tie, sweep a hand over your son’s cheek. “I’m so proud of you. We’re proud.”  
“I know, mom.” Max hugs you close, arms reaching all the way around and then some. Where did the time go?  
“Let’s go. Or I’m going to cry again.”  
  
Max’s car shines with a new coat of wax. It’s not the newest make and model, but it is nice. He’d bought it himself. Had insisted. Two summers of work and many, many, MANY weekends cutting grass and making smoothies, and afternoons spent walking dogs.  
“I like these seat covers.” Bucky runs a hand over high-end black fabric with gold trim. “Did you tell Tony thank you?”  
Such a dad thing to ask. “Yes, dad.”  
  
The drive doesn’t take long. It’s definitely a good thing to get there early. The place is buzzing already, small pockets of people following bright signs. “Wow. Looks like two thirds of the lot is full already. This is as close as I can get.” Max parks in a bay not far from where he’d entered.  
  
Your son might be an adult but even so, you recognize moments when he still needs his parents. He’s anxious, fiddles with his tie and his hair before making it out of the car. Checks over his shoes and slacks before opening the trunk of the car. “Ok. You have the tickets, right? Did you count to make sure there are enough for everyone? I mean, I counted. Just want to make sure you brought them all. And you have the camera, right? Uncle Steve said he’s bringing one too. And...”  
  
A gentle hand to your son’s face, you stop him from his barrage of questions. You don’t say anything, just step closer to hug him. An open arm from your son and Bucky joins in the family hug, a moment needed to calm everyone's nerves.  
“We got everything. Go. We’ll meet up afterwards.” You encourage your son to let go and he does, somewhat reluctantly.  
Max gives you one last look, grabs everything he needs. “I love you.”  
“We know.”  
  
With that, he disappears into a group of friends already waiting for him and you sniffle.  
“I brought tissues.” Bucky teases softly, kisses the top of your hair.  
“Good. You gonna need them.” You poke back but you can’t hide the tear rolling down your cheek.  
Bucky kisses you again, holds you for a beat or two. “Let’s go. Steve sent a text. Everyone’s already at the gate.”  
  
Bucky takes your hand, takes lead to where everyone is waiting. Strong fingers make sure he doesn’t lose you in the growing crowd.  
“Hey, there you guys are.” Natasha is fast by your side, hugs you, kisses your cheeks. “How you holding up, mamochka?”  
You sigh, eyes still a little red. “It’s been a day. And it’s not over.”  
“And you? Look at you. Is that pride?” Natasha teases Bucky. She can’t help herself.  
“Yes. Yes it is.”  
  
Bucky hugs Natasha, sees Sam and Clint and Wanda and Vision and Miguel over her shoulder.  
“Uncle Bucky.” The cheerful voice closes in fast. Bucky has but a microsecond to react. Arms open, he catches his niece just in time.  
“Heya, Becca. How’s my favorite niece?” Bucky studies Rebecca’s cheery little face before she hops out of his arms and runs to Natasha. Every day, the little girl looks more and more like Miguel. Black eyes. Black curly hair. A dimple in her left cheek when she laughs. “And where’s my nephew?”  
  
“He’s on his way.” Steve chuckles, a tiny hand wrapped around one of his fingers. Walk unsteady, Steve’s lookalike slowly waddles up the sidewalk.  
“Bubu.”  
“That’s right. That’s uncle Bucky. Let’s say hello.” Steve lifts his son to his chest, makes his way to Bucky. “Can you say hi? Say hi.”  
Bucky waits patiently, but it’s all coos and raspberries. He scoops the tyke from Steve’s arms, boops his little nose. “It’s ok, Bruce. When you’re ready to talk, I’m sure you’ll let us know. If you're anything like your dad, you'll never shut up again.”

"Hey! Listen here, jerk."

"Excuse you! Language! My nephew doesn't need these words. Not yet."  
  
Bucky looks good with a baby in his arms. That much you know when you watch him talk to his best friend. But you’re glad this time has passed. You’ve held your baby. And to be fair, Bucky has too. Maybe not when Max had been tiny tiny. But later on. And it counts. Good times. Bad times. Birthday parties. Nights sick with stomach flu. Graduating from elementary school. Hospital nights because of a broken leg. Sweet sixteen. First heartbreak. Bucky has been there. For you. For your son.  
  
And those times have left their marks on Bucky as well. Maybe not as noticeable as yours. But they’re there. Some gray at the temples. A few stubborn grays in his beard. An extra wrinkle at each eye when he laughs. A softer physique with less working out and more weekends cuddling with you.  
  
“So. You two gonna have more kids?” Bucky’s still holding little Bruce when you hear him ask.  
Steve shakes his head, laughing as he watches Miguel chase after their daughter. “I think two is a good balance. Besides. It’s difficult. I mean, finding a surrogate is fairly simple. Lots of paperwork. But I don’t know. It feels like we’re stealing something. I know we’re not, but the baby grows in someone else's body. And... it’s difficult to explain. Those are our kids. But they’re also the surrogate’s children. In a way.”  
  
Bucky nods. “Two is a good balance.”  
Steve catches the solemn tone, squeezes Bucky’s shoulder. “Give it a few years. Ten or so. Never know, you’ll be a grandfather before you know it. Until then, enjoy this time. Take your wife and show her the world.” Steve winks and Bucky wants to punch his friend square in the face for nearly spilling the surprise.  
  
“I can think of other things to do once the house is ours.” You smirk, especially when you see Steve’s face going red. TMI. T!M!I!  
An exchange of looks and waggling brows, and Steve insists to have his son back so he can hide. Nat’s been right. Bring up certain topics and these men out of time will run for the nearest exit.  
  
“Looks like they’re starting to seat everyone. You each have a ticket for lower left, should all be in the same row. Y/N and I have seats in the front row though. So we’ll see you guys after.”  
More hugs, more cheek kisses, and the group splits into two.  
  
It takes some time before everyone is settled. Before the noise dies down. The stage lights are on, a podium at the center. You hold tight to Bucky’s hand and he holds tight to yours. The moment draws close.  
  
A man you know as Principal Takeshi takes the stage, makes his way to the podium. “Good afternoon and welcome to this year’s commencement. Parents, aunts and uncles, siblings, and friends. Family...”  
  
Important people take the stage. Counselors, some teachers, the vice principal, Tony Stark. He gives a speech about the importance of education. The importance of the past, the now, and tomorrow. The importance of young minds leading the world. “I’ll stop boring you now. Who wants to hear someone as old as me talk anyways.” Tony cracks and you chuckle at the antics.  
  
Tony takes a moment, eyes searching. He spies you and Bucky front center, gives a warm smile. “It gives me great joy to introduce the last speaker and end this evening on a high note. Everyone, please put your hands together for this year’s valedictorian, Maximilian Barnes.”  
It's a good thing Steve had brought a camera. Tears of joy make it infinitely more difficult to capture the moment. You take solace in the fact that Bucky doesn't fare much better than you. "Need a tissue?" You tease through tears. A nod, he leans his head on yours and you hold him tight as you both watch your son congratulate the class of 2035.  
  



End file.
